A  Golden  Treasury  of  Songs 
and  Lyrics 


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.-.y^VC    ....  -     :i 

f)d  {ilniw  2li/>  iJadJ  oj  JaaJoheri')  odW 
.81)338  bs^niw  9fIT 


O  wild  West  Wind, 

Thou  breath  of  Autuin's  being, 
Who  chariotest  to  their  drk  wintry  bed 
The  winged  seeds. 


A  GOLDEN  TREASURY 

OF 

SONGS  AND  LYRICS 

FRANCIS  TURNER  PALGRAVE 

PICTURES   IN   COLOR  REPRODUCED   FROM   PAINTINGS   BY 
MAXFIELD    PARRISH 


NEW     YORK 
DUFFIELD     &     COMPANY 

1911 


28829 


Copyright,  I911,  by  Duffield  &  Company 


THE    CNIVERSITV    PRESS,    CASrnRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


Illustrations 

O  wild  West  Wind, 

Thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being, 

Who  chariotest  to  their  dark,  wintry  beds 

The  winged  seeds , Frontispiece 

Tell  me  where  is  Fancy  bred, 
Or  in  the  heart,  or  in  the  head  ? 
How  begot,  how  nourished  ? 

Reply,  reply Facing  page  38 

When  such  music  sweet 

Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook "  "54 

No  white  nor  red  was  ever  seen. 
So  amorous  as  this  lovely  green. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot 

Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root. 

Casting  the  body's  vest  aside 

My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide >     .     .       "         "110 

Happy  the  man,  whose  wish  and  care 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound. 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 

On  his  own  ground "         "    130 

V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 

To  Music  at  night 
When,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes, 
And  far  away  o'er  lawns  and  lakes 

Goes  answering  light ! Facing  page  9,16 

The  brightest  hour  of  unborn  Spring, 

It  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  earth, 
And  smiled  upon  the  silent  sea, 
And  bade  the  frozen  streams  be  free, 

And  like  a  prophetess  of  May 

Strew'd  flowers  upon  the  barren  way "         "    312 

Thou  shalt,  at  one  glance,  behold 

The  daisy  and  the  marigold  ; 

White-plumed  lilies,  and  the  first 

Hedge-grown  primrose  that  hath  burst "         "    326 


Vl 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


THE  GOLDEN   TREASURY 


BOOK   FIRST 


SPRING 

SPRING,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's  pleasant  king ; 
Then  blooms  each  thing,  then  maids  dance  in  a  ring, 
Cold  doth  not  sting,  the  pretty  birds  do  sing, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 

The  palm  and  may  make  country  houses  gay, 
Lambs  frisk  and  play,  the  shepherds  pipe  all  day, 
And  we  hear  aye  birds  tune  this  merry  lay. 
Cuckoo,  jug- jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo. 

The  fields  breathe  sweet,  the  daisies  kiss  our  feet, 
Young  lovers  meet,  old  wives  a-sunning  sit. 
In  every  street  these  tunes  our  ears  do  greet. 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo! 
Spring!    the  sweet  Spring! 

T.   Nash 


n 


SUMMONS    TO    LOVE 

PHOEBUS,  arise ! 
And  paint  the  sable  skies 
With  azure,  white,  and  red: 
Rouse  Memnon's  mother  from  her  Tithon's  bed 

3 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

That  she  may  thy  career  with  roses  spread: 

The  nightingales  thy  coining  eachwhere  sing: 

Make  an  eternal  Spring! 

Give  life  to  this  dark  world  which  lieth  dead; 

Spread  forth  thy  golden  hair 

In  larger  locks  than  thou  wast  wont  before, 

And  emperor-like  decore 

With  diadem  of  pearl  thy  temples  fair: 

Chase  hence  the  ugly  night 

Which  serves  but  to  make  dear  thy  glorious  light 

—  This  is  that  happy  morn, 
That  day,  long-wished  day 
Of  all  my  life  so  dark, 

(If  cruel  stars  have  not  my  ruin  sworn 

And  fates  my  hopes  betray), 

Which,  purely  white,  deserves 

An  everlasting  diamond  should  it  mark. 

This  is  the  mom  should  bring  unto  this  grove 

My  Love,  to  hear  and  recompense  my  love. 

Fair  King,  who  all  preserves. 

But  show  thy  blushing  beams, 

And  thou  two  sweeter  eyes 

Shalt  see  than  those  which  by  Peneus'  streams 

Did  once  thy  heart  surprize. 

Now,  Flora,  deck  thyself  in  fairest  guise : 

If  that  ye  winds  would  hear 

A  voice  surpassing  far  Amphion's  lyre. 

Your  furious  chiding  stay ; 

Let  Zephyr  only  breathe. 

And  with  her  tresses  play. 

—  The  winds  all  silent  are, 
And  Phoebus  in  his  chair 
Ensaffroning  sea  and  air 
Makes  vanish  every  star: 

4 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Night  like  a  drunkard  reels 

Beyond  the  hills,  to  shun  his  flaming  wheels : 

The  fields  with  flowers  are  deck'd  in  every  hue, 

The  clouds  with  orient  gold  spangle  their  blue ; 

Here  is  the  pleasant  place  — 

And  nothing  wanting  is,  save  She,  alas ! 

W.    DUUMMOND    OF    HaWTHORNDEN 


in 


TIME    AND    LOVE 


WHEN  I  have  seen  by  Time's  fell  hand  defaced 
The  rich  proud  cost  of  out-worn  buried  age ; 
When  sometime  lofty  towers  I  see  down-razed, 
And  brass  eternal  slave  to  mortal  rage ; 

When  I  have  seen  the  hungry  ocean  gain 
Advantage  on  the  kingdom  of  the  shore. 
And  the  firm  soil  win  of  the  watery  main, 
Increasing  store  with  loss,  and  loss  with  store; 

When  I  have  seen  such  interchange  of  state. 
Or  state  itself  confounded  to  decay, 
Ruin  hath  taught  me  thus  to  ruminate  — 
That  Time  will  come  and  take  my  Love  away: 

—  This  thought  is  as  a  death,  which  cannot  choose 
But  weep  to  have  that  which  it  fears  to  lose. 

W.  Shakespeare 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


IV 

2 

SINCE  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  earth,  nor  boundless  sea 
But  sad  mortality  o'ersways  their  power, 
How  with  this  rage  shall  beauty  hold  a  plea, 
Whose  action  is  no  stronger  than  a  flower? 

O  how  shall  summer's  honey  breath  hold  out 
Against  the  wreckful  siege  of  battering  days, 
When  rocks  impregnable  are  not  so  stout 
Nor  gates  of  steel  so  strong,  but  time  decays? 

O  fearful  meditation !    where,  alack ! 
Shall  Time's  best  jewel  from  Time's  chest  lie  hid? 
Or  what  strong  hand  can  hold  his  swift  foot  back, 
Or  who  his  spoil  of  beauty  can  forbid? 

O!    none,  unless  this  miracle  have  might. 

That  in  black  ink  my  love  may  still  shine  bright. 

W.  Shakespeake 


THE    PASSIONATE    SHEPHERD    TO    HIS    LOVE 

/^OME  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love, 
^—^      And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dale  and  field. 
And  all  the  craggy  mountains  yield. 

There  will  we  sit  upon  the  rocks 
And  see  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks, 
By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

6 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

There  will  I  make  thee  beds  of  roses 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle 
Embroider'd  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle. 

A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool. 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull, 
Fair  lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold. 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs: 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love. 

Thy  silver  dishes  for  thy  meat 
As  precious  as  the  gods  do  eat. 
Shall  on  an  ivory  table  be 
Prepared  each  day  for  thee  and  me. 

The  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May-morning: 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move. 
Then  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love. 

C.  Marlowe 

VI 

A    MADRIGAL 

CRABBED  Age  and  Youth 
Cannot  live  together : 
Youth  is  full  of  pleasance. 
Age  is  full  of  care ; 
Youth  like  summer  mom. 
Age  like  winter  weather. 
Youth  like  summer  brave, 
7 


THE     GOLDEX    TREASURY 

Age  like  winter  bare : 

Youth  is  full  of  sport, 

Age's  breath  is  short, 

Youth  is  nimble,  Age  is  lame : 

Youth  is  hot  and  bold. 

Age  is  weak  and  cold, 

Youth  is  wild,  and  Age  is  tame :  — 

Age,  I  do  abhor  thee, 

Youth,  I  do  adore  thee ; 

O !  mj  Love,  mj  Love  is  young ! 

Age,  I  do  defy  thee  — 

O  sweet  shepherd,  hie  thee, 

For  methinks  thou  stay'st  too  long. 

W.  Shakespeare 


vn 

UNDER  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun. 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

W.  Shakespeare 
8 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


vrn 


IT  was  a  lover  and  his  lass 
With  a  hey  and  a  ho  and  a  hey-nonino ! 
That  o'er  the  green  corn-field  did  pass 
In  the  spring  time,  the  only  pretty  ring  time, 
When  birds  do  sing  hey  ding  a  ding: 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  Spring. 

Between  the  acres  of  the  rye 
These  pretty  country  folks  would  lie: 
This  carol  they  began  that  hour, 
How  that  life  was  but  a  flower: 

And  therefore  take  the  present  time 

With  a  hey  and  a  ho  and  a  hey-nonino ! 

For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime 

In  the  spring  time,  the  only  pretty  ring  time, 

When  birds  do  sing  hey  ding  a  ding: 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  Spring. 

W.  Shakespeaee 


IX 

PRESENT     IN     ABSENCE 

ABSENCE,  hear  thou  my  protestation 
•     Against  thy  strength. 
Distance,  and  length; 
Do  what  thou  canst  for  alteration: 

For  hearts  of  truest  mettle 
Absence  doth  join,  and  Time  doth  settle. 

Who  loves  a  mistress  of  such  quality. 
His  mind  hath  found 
Affection's  ground 
9 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Beyond  time,  place,  and  all  mortality. 

To  hearts  that  cannot  vary 
Absence  is  present,  Time  doth  tarry. 

By  absence  this  good  means  I  gain, 
That  I  can  catch  her. 
Where  none  can  watch  her, 

In  some  close  corner  of  my  brain : 
There  I  embrace  and  kiss  her; 

And  so  enjoy  her  and  none  miss  her. 


Anon. 


ABSENCE 

BEING  your  slave,  what  should  I  do  but  tend 
Upon   the  hours  and  times   of  your   desire.'' 
I  have  no  precious  time  at  all  to  spend 
Nor  services  to  do,  till  you   require: 

Nor  dare  I   chide  the  world-without-end-hour 
Whilst  I,  my  sovereign,  watch  the  clock  for  you. 
Nor  think  the  bitterness  of  absence  sour 
When  you  have  bid  your  servant  once  adieu: 

Nor  dare  I  question  with  my  jealous  thought 
Where  you  may  be,  or  your  affairs  suppose, 
But  like  a  sad  slave,  stay  and  think  of  nought 
Save,  where  you  are,  how  happy  you  make  those ;  — 

So  true  a  fool  is  love,  that  in  your  will 
Though  you  do  anything,  he  thinks  no  ill. 

W.  Shakespeare 


10 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


XI 

How  like  a  winter  hath  my  absence  been 
From  Thee,  the  pleasure  of  the  fleeting  year ! 
What  freezings  have  I  felt,  what  dark  days  seen, 
What  old  December's  bareness  everywhere! 

And  yet  this  time  removed  was  summer's  time: 
The  teeming  autumn,  big  with  rich  increase. 
Bearing  the  wanton  burden  of  the  prime 
Like  widow'd  wombs  after  their  lords'  decease: 

Yet  this  abundant  issue  seem'd  to  me 
But  hope  of  orphans,  and  unfather'd  fruit ; 
For  summer  and  his  pleasures  wait  on  thee, 
And,  thou  away,  the  very  birds  are  mute; 

Or  if  they  sing,  't  is  with  so  dull  a  cheer. 

That  leaves  look  pale,  dreading  the  winter  's  near. 

W.  Shakespeare 


xn 
A    CONSOLATION 

WHEN  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes 
I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state. 
And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries, 
And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  fate; 

Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope. 
Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possest. 
Desiring  this  man's  art,  and  that  man's  scope, 
With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least; 

Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising, 
Haply  I  think  on  Thee  —  and  then  my  state, 

11 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 
From  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate ; 

For  thy  sweet  love  remember'd,  such  wealth  brings 
That  then  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings. 

W.  Shakespeaee 

xin 
THE    UNCHANGEABLE 

O  NEVER  say  that  I  was  false  of  heart, 
Though  absence  seem'd  my  flame  to  qualify: 
As  easy  might  I  from  myself  depart 
As  from  my  soul,  which  in  thy  breast  doth  lie; 

That  is  my  home  of  love;    if  I  have  ranged, 
Like  him  that  travels,  I  return  again. 
Just  to  the  time,  not  with  the  time  exchanged, 
So  that  myself  bring  water  for  my  stain. 

Never  believe,  though  in  my  nature  reign'd 
All  frailties  that  besiege  all  kinds  of  blood, 
That  it  could  so  preposterously  be  stain'd 
To  leave  for  nothing  all  thy  sum  of  good: 

For  nothing  this  wide  universe  I  call, 
Save  thou,  my  rose :   in  it  thou  art  my  all. 

W.  Shakespeare 

XIV 

TO  me,  fair  Friend,  you  never  can  be  old, 
For  as  you  were  when  first  your  eye  I  eyed 
Such  seems  your  beauty  still.     Three  winters  cold 
Have  from  the  forests  shook  three  summers'  pride ; 

Three  beauteous  springs  to  yellow  autumn  turn'd 
Li  process  of  the  seasons  have  I  seen, 

12 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Three  April  perfumes  in  three  hot  Junes  burn'd. 
Since  first  I  saw  you  fresh,  which  yet  are  green. 

Ah!   yet  doth  beauty,  like  a  dial-hand, 
Steal  from  his  figure,  and  no  pace  perceived ; 
So  your  sweet  hue,  which  methinks  still  doth  stand, 
Hath  motion,  and  mine  eye  may  be  deceived: 

For  fear  of  which,  hear  this,  thou  age  unbred,  — 
Ere  you  were  born,  was  beauty's  summer  dead. 

W.  Shakespeare 


XV 

DIAPHENIA 

DLVPHENIA  like  the  daffadowndilly. 
White  as  the  sun,  fair  as  the  lily. 
Heigh  ho,  how  I  do  love  thee! 
I  do  love  thee  as  my  lambs 
Are  beloved  of  their  dams ; 
How  blest  were  I  if  thou  would'st  prove  me. 

Diaphenia  like  the  spreading  roses. 

That  in  thy  sweets  all  sweets  encloses, 

Fair  sweet,  how  I  do  love  thee! 

I  do  love  thee  as  each  flower 

Loves  the  sun's  life-giving  power; 

For  dead,  thy  breath  to  life  might  move  me. 

Diaphenia  like  to  all  things  blessed. 

When  all  thy  praises  are  expressed, 

Dear  joy,  how  I  do  love  thee! 

As  the  birds  do  love  the  spring. 

Or  the  bees  their  careful  king: 

Then  in  requite,  sweet  virgin,  love  me! 

H.  Constable 
13 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

XVI 

ROSALINE 

LIEZE  to  the  clear  in  highest  sphere 
■^     Where  all  imperial  glory  shines. 
Of  selfsame  colour  is  her  hair 
Whether  unfolded,  or  in  twines : 

Heigh  ho,  fair  Rosaline ! 
Her  eyes  are  sapphires  set  in  snow 
Resembling  heaven  by  every  wink ; 
The  Gods  do  fear  whenas  they  glow, 
And  I  do  tremble  when  I  think 

Heigh  ho,  would  she  were  mine ! 

Her  cheeks  are  like  the  blushing  cloud 
That  beautifies  Aurora's  face, 
Or  like  the  silver  crimson  shroud 
That  Phoebus'  smiling  looks  doth  grace; 

Heigh  ho,  fair  Rosaline ! 
Her  lips  are  like  two  budded  roses 
Whom  ranks  of  lilies  neighbour  nigh, 
Within  which  bounds  she  balm  encloses 
Apt  to  entice  a  deity: 

Heigh  ho,  would  she  were  mine ! 

Her  neck  is  like  a  stately  tower 
Where  Love  himself  imprison'd  lies, 
To  watch  for  glances  every  hour 
From  her  divine  and  sacred  eyes: 

Heigh  ho,  for  Rosaline! 
Her  paps  are  centres  of  delight, 
Her  breasts  are  orbs  of  heavenly  frame. 
Where  Nature  moulds  the  dew  of  light 
To  feed  perfection  with  the  same: 

Heigh  ho,  would  she  were  mine ! 
14 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

With  orient  pearl,  with  ruby  red, 
With  marble  white,  with  sappliire  blue 
Her  body  every  way  is  fed, 
Yet  soft  in  touch  and  sweet  in  view: 

Heigh  ho,  fair  Rosaline ! 
Nature  herself  her  shape  admires ; 
The  Gods  are  wounded  in  her  sight ; 
And  Love  forsakes  his  heavenly  fires 
And  at  her  eyes  his  brand  doth  light: 

Heigh  ho,  would  she  were  mine ! 

Then  muse  not,  Nymphs,  though  I  bemoan 
The  absence  of  fair  Rosaline, 
Since  for  a  fair  there  's  fairer  none, 
Nor  for  her  virtues  so  divine : 
Heigh  ho,  fair  Rosaline; 
Heigh  ho,  my  heart !  would  God  that  she  were  mine ! 

T.  Lodge 


xvn 
COLIN 

BEAUTY  sat  bathing  by  a  spring 
Where  fairest  shades  did  hide  her ; 
The  winds  blew  calm,  the  birds  did  sing, 

The  cool  streams  ran  beside  her. 
My  wanton  thoughts  enticed  mine  eye 

To  see  what  was  forbidden: 
But  better  memory  said,  fie ! 

So  vain  desire  was  chidden :  — 
Hey  nonny  nonny  O ! 
Hey  nonny  nonny ! 
15 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Into  a  slumber  then  I  fell. 
When  fond  imagination 
Seemed  to  see,  but  could  not  tell 

Her  feature  or  her  fashion. 
But  ev'n  as  babes  in  dreams  do  smile. 

And  sometimes  fall  a-weeping, 
So  I  awaked,  as  wise  this  while 
As  when  I  fell  a-sleeping :  — 
Hey  nonny  nonny  O! 
Hey  nonny  nonny ! 

The  Shepheed  Tonie 


xvrn 
TO    HIS    LOVE 

SHALL  I  compare  thee  to  a  summer's  day? 
Thou  art  more  lovely  and  more  temperate ; 
Rough  winds  do  shake  the  darling  buds  of  May, 
And  summer's  lease  hath  all  too  short  a  date: 

Sometime  too  hot  the  eye  of  heaven  shines. 

And  often  is  his  gold  complexion  dimm'd : 

And  every  fair  from  fair  sometime  declines, 

By  chance,  or  nature's  changing  course,  untrimm'd. 

But  thy  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade 
Nor  lose  possession  of  that  fair  thou  owest; 
Nor  shall  Death  brag  thou  wanderest  in  his  shade 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  growest. 

So  long  as  men  can  breathe,  or  eyes  can  see 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to  thee. 

W.  Shakespeare 


16 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


xrx 
TO    HIS    LOVE 

WHEN  in  the  chronicle  of  wasted  time 
I  see  descriptions  of  the  fairest  wights, 
And  beauty  making  beautiful  old  rhyme 
In  praise  of  ladies  dead,  and  lovely  knights ; 

Then  in  the  blazon  of  sweet  beauty's  best 
Of  hand,  of  foot,  of  lip,  of  eye,  of  brow, 
I  see  their  antique  pen  would  have  exprest 
Ev'n  such  a  beauty  as  you  master  now. 

So  all  their  praises  are  but  prophecies 
Of  this  our  time,  all,  you  prefiguring ; 
And  for  they  look'd  but  with  divining  eyes. 
They  had  not  skill  enough  your  worth  to  sing. 

For  we,  which  now  behold  these  present  days. 
Have  eyes  to  wonder,  but  lack  tongues  to  praise. 

W.  Shakespeare 


LOVE'S    PERJURIES 

ON  a  day,  alack  the  day ! 
Love,  whose  month  is  ever  May, 
Spied  a  blossom  passing  fair 
Playing  in  the  wanton  air: 
Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind. 
All  unseen,  'gan  passage  find; 
That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 
Wish'd  himself  the  heaven's  breath. 
17 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Air,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow ; 
Air,  would  I  might  triumph  so ! 
But,  alack,  my  hand  is  sworn 
Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn: 
Vow,  alack,  for  youth  unmeet ; 
Youth  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 
Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me 
That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee: 
Thou  for  whom  e'en  Jove  would  swear 
Juno  but  an  Ethiope  were, 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 
Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. 

W.  Shakespeaeje 


>4>^ 


^  XXI 


A    SUPPLICATION 


FORGET  not  yet  the  tried  intent 
Of  such  a  truth  as  I  have  meant; 
My  great  travail  so  gladly  spent, 
Forget  not  yet! 

Forget  not  yet  when  first  began 
The  weary  life  ye  know,  since  whan 
The  suit,  the  service  none  tell  can ; 
Forget  not  yet! 

Forget  not  yet  the  great  assays. 
The  cruel  wrong,  the  scornful  ways, 
The  painful  patience  in  delays, 
Forget  not  yet! 

Forget  not!     O,  forget  not  this, 
How  long  ago  hath  been,  and  is 
The  mind  that  never  meant  amiss  — - 
Forget  not  yet! 
18 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Forget  not  then  thine  own  approved 
The  which  so  long  hath  thee  so  loved, 
Whose  steadfast  faith  yet  never  moved  — 
Forget  not  this ! 

SiE  T.  Wyat 

xxn  ^^ 

TO    AURORA 

OIF  thou  knew'st  how  thou  thyself  dost  harm, 
And  dost  prejudge  thy  bliss,  and  spoil  my  rest; 
Then  thou  would'st  melt  the  ice  out  of  thy  breast 
And  thy  relenting  heart  wovld  kindly  warm. 

O  if  thy  pride  did  not  our  joys  controul. 
What  world  of  loving  wonders  should'st  thou  see! 
For  if  I  saw  thee  once  transform'd  in  me. 
Then  in  thy  bosom  I  would  pour  my  soul ; 

Then  all  my  thoughts  should  in  thy  visage  shine. 
And  if  that  aught  mischanced  thou  should'st  not  moan 
Nor  bear  the  burthen  of  thy  griefs  alone ; 
No,  I  would  have  my  share  in  what  were  thine: 

And  whilst  we  thus  should  make  our  sorrows  one, 
This  happy  harmony  would  make  them  none. 

W.  Alexander,  Earl,  of  Sterline 


xxin 
TRUE    LOVE 

LET  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 
Admit  impediments.     Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds. 
Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove :  — 

19 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

0  no !  it  is  an  ever-fixed  mark 

That  looks  on  tempests,  and  is  never  shaken ; 

It  is  the  star  to  every  wandering  bark, 

Whose  worth  's  unknown,  although  his  height  be  taken. 

Love  's  not  Time's  fool,  though  rosy  lips  and  cheeks 
Within  his  bending  sickle's  compass  come ; 
Love  alters  not  with  his  brief  hours  and  weeks, 
But  bears  it  out  ev'n  to  the  edge  of  doom :  — 

If  this  be  error,  and  upon  me  proved, 

1  never  writ,  nor  no  man  ever  loved. 

W.  Shakespeare 


xxrv 


A    DITTY 


"jV /TY  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his, 
■^"-^      By  just  exchange  one  for  another  given: 
I  hold  his  dear,  and  mine  he  cannot  miss, 
There  never  was  a  better  bargain  driven: 

My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his. 

His  heart  in  me  keeps  him  and  me  in  one. 
My  heart  in  him  his  thoughts  and  senses  guides : 
He  loves  my  heart,  for  once  it  was  his  own, 
I  cherish  his  because  in  me  it  bides : 

My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his. 

Sir  p.  Sidney 


20 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


X3CV 


LOVE'S    OMNIPRESENCE 

WERE    I  as  base  as  is  the  lowly  plain, 
And  you,  my  Love,  as  high  as  heaven  above, 
Yet  should  the  thoughts  of  me  your  humble  swain 
Ascend  to  heaven,  in  honour  of  ray  Love. 

Were  I  as  high  as  heaven  above  the  plain, 
And  you,  my  Love,  as  himible  and  as  low 
As  are  the  deepest  bottoms  of  the  main, 
Whereso'er  you  were,  with  you  my  love  should  go. 

Were  you  the  earth,  dear  Love,  and  I  the  skies, 

My  love  should  shine  on  you  like  to  the  sun. 

And  look  upon  you  with  ten  thousand  eyes 

Till  heaven  wax'd  blind,  and  till  the  world  were  done. 

Whereso'er  I  am,  below,  or  else  above  you, 
Whereso'er  you  are,  my  heart  shall  truly  love  you. 

J.   Sylvester 


XXVI 

CARPE    DIEM 

O  MISTRESS  mine,  where  are  you  roaming? 
O  stay  and  hear !  your  true-love  's  coming 
Tliat  can  sing  both  liigh  and  low ; 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting. 
Journeys  end  in  lovers'  meeting  — 
Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know. 

21 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

What  is  love  ?    't  is  not  hereafter ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter ; 

What 's  to  come  is  still  unsure : 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty,  — 
Then  come  kiss  me,  Sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth  's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 

W.  Shakespeare 


XXVII 


WINTER 


WHEN  icicles  hang  by  the  wall 
And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 

And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail; 
When  blood  is  nipt,  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl 

Tu-whoo ! 
To-whit,  Tu-whoo!     A  merry  note! 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

When  all  about  the  wind  doth  blow, 

And  coughing  drowns  the  parson's  saw, 

And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow. 
And  Marian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw ; 

When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl  — 

Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl 
Tu-whoo ! 

To-whit,  Tu-whoo  !     A  merry  note ! 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

W.  Shakespeare 


22 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


xxvin 

THAT  time  of  year  thou  may'st  in  me  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold. 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang: 

In  me  thou  see'st  the  twilight  of  such  day 
As  after  sunset  fadeth  in  the  west, 
Which  by  and  by  black  night  doth  take  away. 
Death's  second  self,  that  seals  up  all  in  rest: 

In  me  thou  seest  the  glowing  of  such  fire, 
That  on  the  ashes  of  his  youth  doth  lie 
As  the  deathbed  whereon  it  must  expire, 
Consumed  with  that  which  it  was  nourish'd  by: 

—  This  thou  perceiv'st,  which  makes  thy  love  more  strong. 
To  love  that  well  which  thou  must  leave  ere  long. 

W.  Shakespeare 


XXIX 

REMEMBRANCE 

WHEN  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 
I  sigh  the  lack  of  many  a  thing  I  sought, 
And  with  old  woes  new  wail  my  dear  time's  waste; 

Then  can  I  drown  an  eye,  unused  to  flow. 
For  precious  friends  hid  in  death's  dateless  night. 
And  weep  afresh  love's  long-since-cancell'd  woe, 
And  moan  the  expense  of  many  a  vanish'd  sight. 

23 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Then  can  I  grieve  at  grievances  foregone, 
And  heavily  from  woe  to  woe  tell  o'er 
The  sad  account  of  fore-bemoaned  moan, 
Which  I  new  pay  as  if  not  paid  oef ore : 

—  But  if  the  while  I  think  on  thee,  dear  friend, 
All  losses  are  restored,  and  sorrows  end. 

W.  Shakespeare 


XXX 


REVOLUTIONS 

T  IKE  as  the  waves  make  towards  the  pebbled  shore 
■*"^   So  do  our  minutes  hasten  to  their  end ; 
Each  changing  place  with  that  which  goes  before, 
In  sequent  toil  all  forwards  do  contend. 

Nativity  once  in  the  main  of  light. 

Crawls  to  maturity,  wherewith  being  crown'd. 

Crooked  eclipses  'gainst  his  glory  fight, 

And  Time  that  gave,  doth  now  his  gift  confound. 

Time  doth  transfix  the  flourish  set  on  youth. 
And  delves  the  parallels  in  beauty's  brow; 
Feeds  on  the  rarities  of  nature's  truth. 
And  nothing  stands  but  for  his  scythe  to  mow :  — 

And  yet,  to  times  in  hope,  my  verse  shall  stand 
Praising  Thy  worth,  despite  his  cruel  hand. 

W.  Shakespeare 


M 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 


XXXI 


FAREWELL !  thou  art  too  dear  for  thy  possessing, 
And  Hke  enough  thou  know'st  my  estimate: 
The  charter  of  thy  worth  gives  thee  releasing ; 
My  bonds  in  thee  are  all  determinate. 

For  how  do  I  hold  thee  but  by  thy  granting? 
And  for  that  riches  where  is  my  deserving? 
The  cause  of  this  fair  gift  in  me  is  wanting, 
And  so  my  patent  back  again  is  swerving. 

Thyself  thou  gav'st,  thy  own  worth  then  not  knowing. 
Or  me,  to  whom  thou  gav'st  it,  else  mistaking ; 
So  thy  great  gift,  upon  misprision  growing, 
Comes  home  again,  on  better  judgment  making. 

Thus  have  I  had  thee  as  a  dream  doth  flatter ; 
In  sleep,  a  king ;  but  waking,  no  such  matter. 

W.  Shakespeare 


XXXII 

THE    LIFE    WITHOUT    PASSION 

THEY  that  have  power  to  hurt,  and  will  do  none. 
That  do  not  do  the  thing  they  most  do  show. 
Who,  moving  others,  are  themselves  as  stone. 
Unmoved,  cold,  and  to  temptation  slow,  — 

They  rightly  do  inherit  heaven's  graces. 
And  husband  nature's  riches  from  expense; 
They  are  the  lords  and  owners  of  their  faces. 
Others,  but  stewards  of  their  excellence. 

25 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

The  summer's  flower  is  to  the  summer  sweet, 
Though  to  itself  it  only  live  and  die ; 
But  if  that  flower  with  base  infection  meet, 
The  basest  weed  outbraves  his  dignity : 

For  sweetest  things  turn  sourest  by  their  deeds ; 
Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds. 

W.  Shakespeare 


xxxin 
THE    LOVER'S    APPEAL 

AND  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus? 
Say  nay !   say  nay !   for  shame, 
To  save  thee  from  the  blame 
Of  all  my  grief  and  grame. 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus? 
Say  nay !    say  nay ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus. 
That  hath  loved  thee  so  long 
In  wealth  and  woe  among: 
And  is  thy  heart  so  strong 
As  for  to  leave  me  thus? 
Say  nay !    say  nay ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus, 
That  hath  given  thee  my  heart 
Never  for  to  depart 
Neither  for  pain  nor  smart: 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus? 
Say  nay !    say  nay ! 
26 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus, 
And  have  no  more  pity 
Of  him  that  loveth  thee? 
Alas !    thy  cruelty ! 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus? 
Say  nay !    say  nay ! 

Sir  T.  Wyat 


XXXIV 

THE    NIGHTINGALE 

AS  it  fell  upon  a  day 
In  the  merry  month  of  May, 
Sitting  in  a  pleasant  shade 
Which  a  grove  of  myrtles  made. 
Beasts  did  leap  and  birds  did  sing, 
Trees  did  grow  and  plants  did  spring; 
Every  thing  did  banish  moan 
Save  the  Nightingale  alone. 
She,  poor  bird,  as  all  forlorn, 
Lean'd  her  breast  against  a  thorn. 
And  there  sung  the  dolefull'st  ditty 
That  to  hear  it  was  great  pity. 
Fie,  fie,  fie,  now  would  she  cry ; 
Tereu,  tereu,  by  and  by: 
That  to  hear  her  so  complain 
Scarce  I  could  from  tears  refrain; 
For  her  griefs  so  lively  shown 
Made  me  think  upon  mine  own. 
—  Ah,  thought  I,  thou  mourn'st  in  vain, 
None  takes  pity  on  thy  pain : 
Senseless  trees,  they  cannot  hear  thee. 
Ruthless  beasts,  they  will  not  cheer  thee; 
27 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

King  Pandion,  he  is  dead, 
All  thy  friends  are  lapp'd  in  lead: 
All  thy  fellow  birds  do  sing 
Careless  of  thy  sorrowing: 
Even  so,  poor  bird,  like  thee 
None  alive  will  pity  me. 

R.  Barnefield 


XXXV 

CARE-CHARMER  Sleep,  son  of  the  sable  Night, 
Brother  to  Death,  in  silent  darkness  born, 
Reheve  my  languish,  and  restore  the  light ; 
Witli  dark  forgetting  of  my  care  return. 

And  let  the  day  be  time  enough  to  mourn 
The  shipwreck  of  my  illadventured  youth: 
Let  waking  eyes  suffice  to  wail  their  scorn. 
Without  the  torment  of  the  night's  untruth. 

Cease,  dreams,  the  images  of  day-desires. 
To  model  forth  the  passions  of  the  morrow ; 
Never  let  rising  Sun  approve  you  liars. 
To  add  more  grief  to  aggravate  my  sorrow ; 

Still  let  me  sleep,  embracing  clouds  in  vain. 
And  never  wake  to  feel  the  day's  disdain. 

S.  Daniel 

XXXVI 

MADRIGAL 

TAKE,  O  take  those  lips  away 
That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn, 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day. 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn : 
28 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

But  my  kisses  bring  again, 

Bring  again  — 
Seals  of  love,  but  seal'd  in  vain, 

Seal'd  in  vain ! 

W.  Shakespeare 


xxxvn 
LOVE'S    FAREWELL 

SINCE  there  's  no  help,  come  let  us  kiss  and  part,  — 
Nay  I  have  done,  you  get  no  more  of  me ; 
And  I  am  glad,  yea,  glad  with  all  my  heart. 
That  thus  so  cleanly  I  myself  can  free ; 

Shake  hands  for  ever,  cancel  all  our  vows, 
And  when  we  meet  at  any  time  again. 
Be  it  not  seen  in  either  of  our  brows 
That  we  one  jot  of  former  love  retain. 

Now  at  the  last  gasp  of  love's  latest  breath. 
When  his  pulse  failing,  passion  speechless  lies. 
When  faith  is  kneeling  by  his  bed  of  death. 
And  innocence  is  closing  up  his  eyes, 

—  Now  if  thou  would'st,  when  all  have  given  him  over, 
From  death  to  life  thou  might'st  him  yet  recover ! 

M.  Deayton 


xxxvm 
TO    HIS    LUTE 

MY  lute,  be  as  thou  wert  when  thou  didst  grow 
With  thy  green  mother  in  some  shady  grove, 
When  immelodious  winds  but  made  thee  move, 
And  birds  their  ramage  did  on  thee  bestow. 

29 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Since  that  dear  Voice  which  did  thy  sounds  approve, 
Which  wont  in  such  harmonious  strains  to  flow, 
Is  reft  from  Earth  to  tune  those  spheres  above. 
What  are  thou  but  a  harbinger  of  woe? 

Thy  pleasing  notes  be  pleasing  notes  no  more, 
But  orphans'  wailings  to  the  fainting  ear ; 
Each  stroke  a  sigh,  each  sound  draws  forth  a  tear ; 
For  which  be  silent  as  in  woods  before : 

Or  if  that  any  hand  to  touch  thee  deign, 
Like  widow'd  turtle  still  her  loss  complain. 

W.  Deummond 


xxxrx 
BLIND    LOVE 

OME  !  what  eyes  hath  love  put  in  my  head 
Which  have  no  correspondence  with  true  sight : 
Or  if  they  have,  where  is  my  judgment  fled 
That  censures  falsely  what  they  see  aright? 

If  that  be  fair  whereon  my  false  eyes  dote. 
What  means  the  world  to  say  it  is  not  so? 
If  it  be  not,  then  love  doth  well  denote 
Love's  eye  is  not  so  true  as  all  men's :  No, 

How  can  it?     O  how  can  love's  eye  be  true. 
That  is  so  vex'd  with  watching  and  with  tears? 
No  marvel  then  though  I  mistake  my  view : 
The  sun  itself  sees  not  till  heaven  clears. 

O  cunning  Love !  with  tears  thou  keep'st  me  blind, 
Lest  eyes  well-seeing  thy  foul  faults  should  find ! 

W.  Shakespeare 
30 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

XL 

THE    UNFAITHFUL    SHEPHERDESS 

WHILE  that  the  sun  with  his  beams  hot 
Scorched  the  fruits  in  vale  and  mountain, 
Philon  the  shepherd,  late  forgot, 
Sitting  beside  a  crystal  fountain, 
In  shadow  of  a  green  oak  tree 
Upon  his  pipe  this  song  play'd  he: 
Adieu  Love,  adieu  Love,  untrue  Love ; 
Untrue  Love,  untrue  Love,  adieu  Love ; 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 

So  long  as  I  was  in  your  sight 
I  was  your  heart,  your  soul,  and  treasure ; 
And  evermore  you  sobb'd  and  sigh'd 
Burning  in  flames  beyond  all  measure: 

—  Three  days  endured  your  love  to  me. 

And  it  was  lost  in  other  three ! 
Adieu  Love,  adieu  Love,  untrue  Love, 
Untrue  Love,  untrue  Love,  adieu  Love; 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 

Another  Shepherd  you  did  see 
To  whom  your  heart  was  soon  enchained ; 
Full  soon  your  love  was  leapt  from  me, 
Full  soon  my  place  he  had  obtained. 

Soon  came  a  third,  your  love  to  win, 

And  we  were  out  and  he  was  in. 
Adieu  Love,  adieu  Love,  untrue  Love, 
Untrue  Love,  untinie  Love,  adieu  Love ; 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 


to' 


Sure  you  have  made  me  passing  glad 
That  you  your  mind  so  soon  removed, 

31 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Before  that  I  the  leisure  had 
To  choose  you  for  my  best  beloved: 
For  all  your  love  was  past  and  done 
Two  days  before  it  was  begun :  — 
Adieu  Love,  adieu  Love,  untrue  Love, 
Untrue  Love,  untrue  Love,  adieu  Love; 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 

Anon, 


A    RENUNCIATION 

IF  women  could  be  fair,  and  yet  not  fond, 
Or  that  their  love  were  firm,  not  fickle  still, 
I  would  not  marvel  that  they  make  men  bond 
By  service  long  to  purchase  their  good  will; 
But  when  I  see  how  frail  those  creatures  are, 
I  muse  that  men  forget  themselves  so  far. 

To  mark  the  choice  they  make,  and  how  they  change. 
How  oft  from  Phoebus  they  do  flee  to  Pan ; 
Unsettled  still,  like  haggards  wild  they  range. 
These  gentle  birds  that  fly  from  man  to  man ; 
Who  would  not  scorn  and  shake  them  from  the  fist. 
And  let  them  fly,  fair  fools,  which  way  they  list  ? 

Yet  for  disport  we  fawn  and  flatter  both, 
To  pass  the  time  when  nothing  else  can  please, 
And  train  them  to  our  lure  with  subtle  oath. 
Till,  weary  of  their  wiles,  ourselves  we  ease ; 
And  then  we  say  when  we  their  fancy  try, 
To  play  with  fools,  O  what  a  fool  was  I ! 

E.  Veke,  Earl  of  Oxford 


32 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


B 


XIII 

MADRIGAL 

LOW,  blow,  thou  winter  wind. 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude ; 

Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen 

Because  thou  art  not  seen. 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh  ho !   sing  heigh  ho !  unto  the  green  holly : 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly : 

Then,  heigh  ho!    the  holly! 

This   life   is   most  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 

Thou  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot: 

Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 

Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remember'd  not. 
Heigh  ho !   sing  heigh  ho !   unto  the  gi-een  holly : 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  lo\dng  mere  folly : 

Then,  heigh  ho!    the  holly! 

This   life   is   most  jolly. 

W.  Shakespeaee 


XLHL 

MADRIGAL 

MY  thoughts  hold  mortal  strife ; 
I  do  detest  my  life. 
And  with  lamenting  cries 
Peace  to  my  soul  to  bring 

Oft  call  that  prince  wliich  here  doth  monarchize : 

S3 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

—  But  he,  grim  grinning  King, 
Who  caitiffs  scorns,  and  doth  the  blest  surprize, 
Late  having  deck'd  with  beauty's  rose  his  tomb, 
Disdains  to  crop  a  weed,  and  will  not  come. 

W.  Drummond 


XLIV 

DIRGE    OF    LOVE 

COME  away,  come  away.  Death, 
And  in  sad  cypres  let  me  be  laid ; 
Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath ; 
I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O  prepare  it ! 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 
Did  share  it. 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet 
On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be  thrown ; 
A  thousand  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  O  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave. 
To  weep  there. 

W.  Shakespeare 

FIDELE 

FEAR  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun 
Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages ; 
Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done. 

Home  art  gone  and  ta'en  thy  wages  : 
34 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

As   chimney-sweepers,   come  to  dust. 

Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great. 
Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke ; 

Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat; 
To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak: 

The  sceptre,  learning,  physic,  must 

All  follow  this,  and  come  to  dust. 

Fear  no  more  the  lightning-flash 

Nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder-stone; 

Fear  not  slander,  censure  rash ; 

Thou  hast  finish'd  joy  and  moan: 

All  lovers  young,  all  lovers  must 

Consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

W.  Shakespeare 


XLVI 

A    SEA    DIRGE 

FULL  fathom  five  thy  father  lies : 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes: 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell: 
Hark !  now  I  hear  them,  — 
Ding,  dong.  Bell. 

W.  Shakespeaee 


35 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


XLvn 
A    LAND    DIRGE 

CALL  for  the  robin-redbreast  and  the  wren, 
Since  o'er  shady  groves  they  hover 
And  with  leaves  and  flowers  do  cover 
The  friendless  bodies  of  unburied  men. 
Call  unto  his  funeral  dole 
The  ant,  the  field-mouse,  and  the  mole 
To  rear  him  liillocks  that  shall  keep  him  warm 
And  (when  gay  tombs  are  robb'd)  sustain  no  harm; 
But  keep  the  wolf  far  thence,  that 's  foe  to  men, 
For  with  his  nails  he  '11  dig  them  up  again. 

J.  Webster 

xLvni 
POST    MORTEM 

IF  Thou  survive  my  well-contented  day 
When  that  churl  Death  my  bones  with  dust  shall  cover. 
And  shalt  by  fortune  once  more  re-survey 
These  poor  rude  lines  of  thy  deceased  lover ; 

Compare  them  with  the  bettering  of  the  time, 
And  though  they  be  outstripp'd  by  every  pen, 
Reserve  them  for  my  love,  not  for  their  rhyme 
Exceeded  by  the  height  of  happier  men. 

O  then  vouchsafe  me  but  this  loving  thought  — 
'  Had  my  friend's  muse  grown  with  this  growing  age, 
A  dearer  birth  than  this  his  love  had  brought. 
To  march  in  ranks  of  better  equipage : 

But  since  he  died,  and  poets  better  prove. 
Theirs  for  their  style  I  '11  read,  his  for  his  love.' 

W.  Shakespeare 
36 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

XLIX 

THE    TRIUMPH    OF    DEATH 

NO  longer  mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead 
Than  you  shall  hear  the  surely  sullen  bell 
Give  warning  to  the  world,  that  I  am  fled 
From  this  vile  world,  with  vilest  worms  to  dwell ; 

Nay,  if  you  read  this  line,  remember  not 
The  hand  that  writ  it ;   for  I  love  you  so, 
That  I  in  your  sweet  thoughts  would  be  forgot 
If  thinking  on  me  then  should  make  you  woe. 

O  if,  I  say,  you  look  upon  this  verse 
When  I  perhaps  compounded  am  with  clay. 
Do  not  so  much  as  my  poor  name  rehearse, 
But  let  your  love  even  with  my  life  decay ; 

Lest  the  wise  world  should  look  into  your  moan. 
And  mock  you  with  me  after  I  am  gone. 

W.  Shakespeaek 


MADRIGAL 

TELL  me  where  is  Fancy  bred, 
Or  in  the  heart,  or  in  the  head? 
How  begot,  how  nourished? 
Reply,  reply. 

It  is  engcnder'd  in  the  eyes ; 
With  gazing  fed  ;   and  Fancy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  lies : 
37 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Let  us  all  ring  Fancy's  knell; 
I  '11  begin  it,  —  Ding,  dong,  bell. 
—  Ding,  dong,  bell. 

W.  Shakespeaue 


LI 


CUPID    AND    CAMPASPE 

CUPID  and  my  Campaspe  play'd 
At  cards  for  kisses;    Cupid  paid: 
He  stakes  his  quiver,  bow,  and  arrows, 
His  mother's  doves,  and  team  of  sparrows; 
Loses  them  too ;   then  down  he  throws 
The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 
Growing  on  's  cheek  (but  none  knows  how)  ; 
With  these,  the  crystal  of  his  brow. 
And  then  the  dimple  on  his  chin ; 
All  these  did  my  Campaspe  win: 
And  last  he  set  her  both  his  eyes  — 
She  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 

O  Love!   has  she  done  this  to  thee? 
What  shall,  alas!  become  of  me? 

J.  Lylye 


Ln 


PACK,  clouds,  away,  and  welcome  day, 
With  night  we  banish  sorrow ; 
Sweet  air  blow  soft,  mount  larks  aloft 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow! 
Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind 
Notes  from  the  lark  I  '11  borrow ; 
38 


Tell  me  where  is  fancj'  bred. 
Or  in  the  heart,  or  in  the  head? 
How  begot,  how  nourished? 
Reply,  reply. 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Bird,  prune  thy  wing,  nightingale  sing. 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow; 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 
Notes  from  them  both  I  '11  borrow. 

Wake  from  thy  nest,  Robin-red-breast, 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow; 
And  from  each  hill,  let  music  shrill 

Give  my  fair  Love  good-morrow! 
Blackbird  and  thrush  in  every  bush. 

Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow ! 
You  pretty  elves,  amongst  yourselves 
Sing  my  fair  Love  good-morrow ; 
To  give  my  Love  good-moirow 
Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow ! 

T.  Heywood 


un 


PROTHALAMION 

CALM  was  the  day,  and  through  the  trembling  air 
Sweet-breathing  Zephyrus  did  softly  play  — 
A  gentle  spirit,  that  lightly  did  delay 
Hot  Titan's  beams,  which  then  did  glister  fair ; 
When  I,  (whom  sullen  care. 
Through  discontent  of  my  long  fruitless  stay 
In  princes'  court,  and  expectation  vain 
Of  idle  hopes,  which  still  do  fly  away 
Like  empty  shadows,  did  afflict  my  brain) 
Walk'd  forth  to  ease  my  pain 
Along  the  shore  of  silver-streaming  Thames  ; 
Whoso  rutty  bank,  the  which  his  river  hems, 
Was  painted  all  with  variable  flowers, 
And  all  the  meads  adorn'd  with  dainty  gems 

39 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Fit   to   deck   maidens'   bowers, 
And  crown  their  paramours 
Against  the  bridal  day,  which  is  not  long: 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

There  in  a  meadow  by  the  river's  side 
A  flock  of  nymphs  I  chanced  to  espy, 
All  lovely  daughters  of  the  flood  thereby, 
With  goodly  greenish  locks  all  loose  untied 
As  each  had  been  a  bride; 
And  each  one  had  a  little  wicker  basket 
Made  of  fine  twigs,  entrailed  curiously, 
In  which  they  gather'd  flowers  to  fill  their  flasket. 
And  with  fine  fingers  cropt  full  feateously 
The  tender  stalks  on  high. 
Of  every  sort  which  in  that  meadow  grew 
They  gather'd  some ;   the  violet,  pallid  blue, 
The  little  daisy  that  at  evening  closes, 
The  virgin  lily  and  the  primrose  true: 
With   store   of  vermeil   roses. 
To  deck  their  bridegrooms'  posies 
Against  the  bridal  day,  which  was  not  long : 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

With  that  I  saw  two  swans  of  goodly  hue 
Come  softly  swimming  down  along  the  lee ; 
Two  fairer  birds  I  yet  did  never  see ; 
The  snow  which  doth  the  top  of  Pindus  strow 
Did  never  whiter  show, 
Nor  Jove  himself,  when  he  a  swan  would  be 
For  love  of  Leda,  whiter  did  appear; 
Yet  Leda  was  (they  say)  as  white  as  he. 
Yet  not  so  white  as  these,  nor  nothing  near ; 
So  purely  white  they  were 

That  even  the  gentle  stream,  the  which  them  bare, 
Seem'd  foul  to  them,  and  bade  his  billows  spare 

40 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

To  wet  their  silken  feathers,  lest  they  might 
Soil  their  fair  plumes  with  water  not  so  fair, 
And  mar  their  beauties  bright 
That  shone  as  Heaven's  light 
Against  their  bridal  day,  which  was  not  long : 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

Eftsoons  the  nymphs,  which  now  had  flowers  their  fill, 
Ran  all  in  haste  to  see  that  silver  brood 
As  they  came  floating  on  the  crystal  flood; 
Whom  when  they  saw,  they  stood  amazed  still 
Their  wondering  eyes  to  fill ; 
Them  seem'd  they  never  saw  a  sight  so  fair 
Of  fowls,  so  lovely,  that  they  sure  did  deem 
Them  heavenly  born,  or  to  be  that  same  pair 
Which  through  the  sky  draw  Venus'  silver  team ; 
For  sure  they  did  not  seem 
To  be  begot  of  any  earthly  seed. 
But  rather  angels,  or  of  angels'  breed; 
Yet  were  they  bred  of  summer's  heat,  they  say, 
In  sweetest  season,  when  each  flower  and  weed 
The  earth  did  fresh  array; 
So  fresh  they  seem'd  as  day, 
Ev'n  as  their  bridal  day,  which  was  not  long: 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

Then  forth  they  all  out  of  their  baskets  drew 
Great  store  of  flowers,  the  honour  of  the  field. 
That  to  the  sense  did  fragrant  odours  yield. 
All  which  upon  those  goodly  birds  they  threw 
And  all  the  waves  did  strew. 
That  like  old  Peneus'  waters  they  did  seem 
When  down  along  by  pleasant  Tempe's  shore 
Scatter'd  with  flowers,  through  Thessaly  they  stream. 
That  they  appear,  through  lihes'  plenteous  store. 
Like  a  bride's  chamber-floor. 

41 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Two  of  those  nymphs  meanwhile  two  garlands  bound 
Of  freshest  flowers  which  in  that  mead  they  found, 
The  which  presenting  all  in  trim  array, 
Their  snowy  foreheads  therewithal  they  crown'd ; 
Whilst  one  did  sing  this  lay 
Prepared  against  that  day, 
Against  their  bridal  day,  which  was  not  long: 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

'  Ye  gentle  birds !    the  world's  fair  ornament. 

And  Heaven's  glory,  whom  this  happy  hour 

Doth  lead  unto  your  lovers'  blissful  bower, 

Joy  may  you  have,  and  gentle  heart's  content 

Of  your  love's  complement; 

And  let  fair  Venus,  that  is  queen  of  love. 

With  her  heart-quelling  son  upon  you  smile. 

Whose  smile,  they  say,  hath  virtue  to  remove 

All  love's  dislike,  and  friendship's  faulty  guile 

For  ever  to  assoil. 

Let  endless  peace  your  steadfast  hearts  accord, 

And  blessed  plenty  wait  upon  your  board ; 

And  let  your  bed  with  pleasures  chaste  abound, 

That  fruitful  issue  may  to  you  afford 

Which  may  your  foes  confound, 

And  make  your  joys  redound 

Upon  your  bridal  day,  which  is  not  long: 

Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song.' 

So  ended  she ;   and  all  the  rest  around 
To  her  redoubled  that  her  undersong, 
Which  said  their  bridal  day  should  not  be  long: 
And  gentle  Echo  from  the  neighbour  ground 
Their  accents  did  resound. 
So  forth  those  joyous  birds  did  pass  along 
Adown  the  lee  that  to  them  murmur'd  low, 
As  he  would  speak  but  that  he  lack'd  a  tongue ; 

4^ 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Yet  did  by  signs  his  glad  affection  show, 
Making  his  stream  run  slow. 
And  all  the  fowl  which  in  his  flood  did  dwell 
'Gan  flock  about  these  twain,  that  did  excel 
The  rest,  so  far  as  Cynthia  doth  shend 
The  lesser  stars.     So  they,  enranged  well. 
Did  on  those  two  attend. 
And  their  best  service  lend 

Against  their  wedding  day,  which  was  not  long : 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

At  length  they  all  to  merry  London  came, 
To  merry  liondon,  my  most  kindly  nurse. 
That  to  me  gave  this  life's  first  native  source. 
Though  from  another  place  I  take  my  name, 
An  house  of  ancient  fame: 

There  when  they  came  whereas  those  bricky  towers 
The  which  on  Thames'  broad  aged  back  do  ride. 
Where  now  the  studious  lawyers  have  their  bowers. 
Their  whilome  wont  the  Templar-knights  to  bide, 
Till  they  decay'd  through  pride; 
Next  whereunto  there  stands  a  stately  place. 
Where  oft  I  gained  gifts  and  goodly  grace 
Of  that  great  lord,  which  therein  wont  to  dwell. 
Whose  want  too  well  now  feels  my  friendless  case ; 
But  ah!    here  fits  not  well 
Old  woes,  but  joys  to  tell 
Against  the  bridal  day,  which  is  not  long: 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

Yet  therein  now  doth  lodge  a  noble  peer. 
Great  England's  glory  and  the  world's  wide  wonder. 
Whose  dreadful  name  late  through  all  Spain  did  thunder, 
And  Hercules'  two  pillars  standing  near 
Did  make  to  quake  and  fear: 
Fair  branch  of  honour,  flower  of  chivalry ! 

43 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

That  fillest  England  with  thy  triumphs'  fame 

Joy  have  thou  of  thy  noble  victory, 

And  endless  happiness  of  thine  own  name 

That   promiseth  the  same ; 

That  through  thy  prowess  and  victorious  arms 

Thy  country  may  be  freed  from  foreign  harms, 

And  great  Elisa's  glorious  name  may  ring 

Through  all  the  world,  fill'd  with  thy  wide  alarms, 

Which  some  brave  Muse  may  sing 

To  ages  following: 

Upon  the  bridal  day,  which  is  not  long: 

Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

From  those  high  towers  this  noble  lord  issuing 
Like  radiant  Hesper,  when  his  golden  hair 
In  th'  ocean  billows  he  hath  bathed  fair. 
Descended  to  the  river's  open  viewing 
With  a  great  train  ensuing. 
Above  the  rest  were  goodly  to  be  seen 
Two  gentle  knights  of  lovely  face  and  feature, 
Beseeming  well  the  bower  of  any  queen. 
With  gifts  of  wit  and  ornaments  of  nature. 
Fit  for  so  goodly  stature, 

That  like  the  twins  of  Jove  they  seem'd  in  sight 
Which  deck  the  baldric  of  the  Heavens  bright ; 
They  two,  forth  pacing  to  the  river's  side, 
Received  those  two  fair  brides,  their  love's  delight ; 
Which,  at  th'  appointed  tide. 
Each  one  did  make  his  bride 
Against  their  bridal  day,  which  is  not  long: 
Sweet  Thames !  run  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

E.  Spenser 


44 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


LIV 


THE    HAPPY    HEART 

ART  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers? 
O  sweet  content! 
Art  thou  rich,  yet  is  thy  mind  perplexed? 

O  punishment! 
Dost  thou  laugh  to  see  how  fools  are  vexed 
To  add  to  golden  numbers,  golden  numbers? 
O  sweet  content !     O  sweet,  O  sweet  content  1 
Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace ; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face ; 
Then  hey  nonny  nonny,  hey  nonny  nonny  1 

Canst  drink  the  waters  of  the  crisped  spring? 

O  sweet  content! 
Swimm'st  thou  in  wealth,  yet  sink'st  in  thine  own  tears  ? 

O  punishment! 
Then  he  that  patiently  want's  burden  bears 
No  burden  bears,  but  is  a  king,  a  king! 
O  sweet  content!    O  sweet,  O  sweet  content! 
Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face ; 
Then  hey  nonny  nonny,  hey  nonny  nonny ! 

T.  Dekker 


LV 


THIS  Life,  which  seems  so  fair. 
Is  like  a  bubble  blown  up  in  the  air 
By  sporting  children's  breath, 
Who  chase  it  everywhere 

45 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

And  strive  who  can  most  motion  it  bequeath. 
And  though  it  sometimes  seem  of  its  own  might 
Like  to  an  eye  of  gold  to  be  fix'd  there, 
And  firm  to  hover  in  that  empty  height, 
That  only  is  because  it  is  so  light. 
—  But  in  that  pomp  it  doth  not  long  appear ; 
For  when  't  is  most  admired,  in  a  thought. 
Because  it  erst  was  nought,  it  turns  to  nought. 

W.  Drummond 


LVI 

SOUL    AND    BODY 

POOR  Soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth, 
Fool'd  by  those  rebel  powers  that  thee  array. 
Why  dost  thou  pine  within,  and  suffer  dearth, 
Painting  thy  outward  walls  so  costly  gay.? 

Why  so  large  cost,  having  so  short  a  lease, 
Dost  thou  upon  thy  fading  mansion  spend.'' 
Shall  worms,  inheritors  of  this  excess. 
Eat  up  thy  charge.''  is  this  thy  body's  end.^* 

Then,  Soul,  live  thou  upon  thy  servant's  loss. 
And  let  that  pine  to  aggravate  thy  store  ; 
Buy  terms  divine  in  selling  hours  of  dross ; 
Within  be  fed,  without  be  rich  no  more :  — 

So  shalt  thou  feed  on  death,  that  feeds  on  men, 
And  death  once  dead,  there  's  no  more  dying  then. 

W.  Shakespeare 


46 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Lvn 
LIFE 

THE  world  's  a  bubble  and  the  Life  of  Man 
Less  than  a  span 
In  his  conception  wretched,  from  the  womb 

So  to  the  tomb; 
Curst  from  his  cradle,  and  brought  up  to  years 

With  cares  and  fears. 
Who  then  to  frail  mortality  shall  trust. 
But  limns  on  water,  or  but  writes  in  dust. 

Yet  whilst  with  sorrow  here  we  live  opprest, 

What  life  is  best.? 
Courts  are  but  only  superficial  schools 

To  dandle  fools: 
The  rural  parts  are  tum'd  into  a  den 

Of  savage  men: 
And  where  's  a  city  from  foul  vice  so  free. 
But  may  be  termed  the  worst  of  all  the  three .'' 

Domestic  cares  afflict  the  husband's  bed, 

Or  pains  his  head : 
Those  that  live  single,  take  it  for  a  curse 

Or  do  things  worse : 
Some  would  have  children :   those  that  have  them  moan 

Or  wish  them  gone: 
What  is  it,  then,  to  have,  or  have  no  wife. 
But  single  thraldom  or  a  double  strife.'' 

But  our  affections  still  at  home  to  please 

Is  a  disease: 
To  cross  the  seas  to  any  foreign  soil, 

Peril  and  toil: 

47 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Wars  with  their  noise  affright  us :   when  they  cease, 

We  are  worse  in  peace ;  — 
What  then  remains,  but  that  we  still  should  cry 
For  being  born,  or  being  born,  to  die? 

LoED  Bacon 


Lvra 
THE    LESSONS    OF    NATURE 

OF  this  fair  volume  which  we  World  do  name 
If  we  the  sheets  and  leaves  could  turn  with  care, 
Of  him  who  it  corrects,  and  did  it  frame, 
We  clear  might  read  the  art  and  wisdom  rare : 

Find  out  his  power  which  wildest  powers  doth  tame, 
His  providence  extending  everywhere, 
His  justice  which  proud  rebels  doth  not  spare, 
In  every  page,  no  period  of  the  same. 

But  silly  we,  like  foolish  children,  rest 
Well  pleased  with  colour'd  vellum,  leaves  of  gold, 
Fair  dangling  ribbands,  leaving  what  is  best, 
On  the  great  writer's  sense  ne'er  taking  hold; 

Or  if  by  chance  we  stay  our  minds  on  aught. 
It  is  some  picture  on  the  margin  wrought. 

W.  Deummond 


LIX 


"TVOTH  then  the  world  go  thus,  doth  all  thus  move.? 
•*— ^     Is  this  the  justice  which  on  earth  we  find.? 
Is  this  that  firm  decree  which  all  doth  bind.? 
Are  these  your  influences,  Powers  above? 

48 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Those  souls  which  vice's  moody  mists  most  bhnd, 
Blind  Fortune,  blindly,  most  their  friend  doth  prore ; 
And  they  who  thee,  poor  idol  Virtue !  love. 
Ply  Hke  a  feather  toss'd  by  storm  and  wind. 

Ah !   if  a  Providence  doth  sway  this  all 

Why  should  best  minds  groan  under  most  distress? 

Or  why  should  pride  humility  make  thrall. 

And  injuries  the  innocent  oppress? 

Heavens !    hinder,  stop  this  fate ;    or  grant  a  time 
When  good  may  have,  as  well  as  bad,  their  prime ! 

W.  Drummond 


LX 

THE    WORLD'S    WAY 

TIRED  with  all  these,  for  restful  death  I  cry  — 
As,  to  behold  desert  a  beggar  bom. 
And  needy  nothing  trimm'd  in  jolHty, 
And  purest  faith  unhappily  forsworn, 

And  gilded  honour  shamefully  misplaced, 
And  maiden  virtue  rudely  strumpeted, 
And  right  perfection  wrongfully  disgraced, 
And  strength  by  limping  sway  disabled, 

And  art  made  tongue-tied  by  authority, 

And  folly,  doctor-like,  controlling  skill, 

And  simple  truth  miscalPd  simpHcity, 

And  captive  Good  attending  captain  111 :  — 

—  Tired  with  all  these,  from  these  would  I  be  gone, 
Save  that,  to  die,  I  leave  my  Love  alone. 

W.  Shakespeare 
49 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


LXI 

SAINT    JOHN    BAPTIST 

THE  last  and  greatest  Herald  of  Heaven's  King 
Girt  with  rough  skins,  hies  to  the  deserts  wild, 
Among  that  savage  brood  the  woods  forth  bring, 
Which  he  more  harmless  found  than  man,  and  mild. 

His  food  was  locusts,  and  what  there  doth  spring, 
With  hone}^  that  from  virgin  hives  distill'd; 
Parch'd  body,  hollow  eyes,  some  uncouth  thing 
Made  him  appear,  long  since  from  earth  exiled. 

There  burst  he  forth:    All  ye  whose  hopes  rely 
On  God,  with  me  amidst  these  deserts  mourn. 
Repent,  repent,  and  from  old  errors  turn ! 
—  Who  listen 'd  to  his  voice,  obey'd  his  cry? 

Only  the  echoes,  which  he  made  relent. 

Rung  from  their  flinty  caves,  Repent !  Repent ! 

W.  Deummond 


50 


BOOK    SECOND 

Lxn 

ODE    ON    THE    MORNING    OF    CHRIST'S 

NATIVITY 

THIS  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn 
Wherein  the  Son  of  Heaven's  Eternal  King 
Of  wedded  maid  and  virgin  mother  born, 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring ; 
For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing 
That  he  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release. 
And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  Form,  that  Light  unsufferable, 

And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  Majesty 

Wherewith  he  wont  at  Heaven's  high  council-table 

To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 

He  laid  aside;    and,  here  with  us  to  be, 

Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day. 

And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay. 

Say,  heavenly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 

Afford   a   present  to   the   Infant   God? 

Hast  thou  no  verse,  no  hymn,  or  solemn  strain 

To  welcome  him  to   this   his  new  abode. 

Now  while  the  heaven,  by  the  sun's  team  untrod. 

Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approaching  light, 

And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  squadrons  bright? 

See  how  from  far,  upon  the  eastern  road, 
The  star-led  wizards  haste  with  odours  sweet: 
O  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode 

51 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 

Have  thou  the  honour  first  thy  Lord  to  greet, 

And  join  thy  voice  luito  the  angel  quire 

From  out  his  secret  altar  touch'd  with  hallow'd  fire. 


THE    HYMN 

It  was  the  winter  wild 

While  the  heaven-born  Child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies ; 

Nature  in   awe  to  Him 

Had  doff'd  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize: 

It  was  no  season  then   for  her 

To  wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

Only  with  speeches  fair 

She  wo  OS  the  gentle  air 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  snow; 

And  on  her  naked  shame, 

Pollute  with   sinful  blame. 

The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw; 

Confounded,  that  her  Maker's  eyes 

Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

But  he,  her  fears  to  cease. 
Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace ; 
She,  crown'd  with  olive  green,  came  softly  sliding 
Down  through  the  turning  sphere. 
His  ready  harbinger. 

With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing ; 
And  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand, 
She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea  and  land. 

52 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

No  war,  or  battle's  sound 

Was  heard  the  world  around: 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  uphung ; 

The  hooked  chariot  stood 

Unstain'd  with  hostile  blood; 

The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng ; 

And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye, 

As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 

But  peaceful  was  the  night 

Wherein  the  Prince  of  Light 

His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began : 

The  winds,  with  wonder  whist, 

Smoothly  the  waters  kist 

Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean  — 

Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 

While  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave. 

The  stars,  with  deep  amaze. 

Stand  fix'd  in  steadfast  gaze. 

Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence ; 

And  will  not  take  their  flight 

For  all  the  morning  light. 

Or  Lucifer  that  often  warn'd  them  thence; 

But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow 

Until  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 

And  though  the  shady  gloom 
Had  given  day  her  room, 
The  sun  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed, 
And  hid  his  head  for  shame. 
As  his  inferior  flame 

The  new-enlighten'd  world  no  more  should  need; 
He  saw  a  greater  Sun  appear 

Than  his  bright  throne,  or  burning  axletrce,  could  bear. 

53 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn 

Or  ere  the  point  of  dawn 

Sate  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row ; 

Full  little  thought  they  then 

That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below ; 

Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep 

Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep. 

When  such  music  sweet 

Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook  — 

Divinely-warbled  voice 

Answering  the  stringed  noise, 

As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took: 

The  air,  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose, 

With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly  close. 

Nature,  that  heard  such  sound 

Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia's  seat  the  airy  region  thrilling, 

Now  was  almost  won 

To  think  her  part  was  done, 

And  that  her  reign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling; 

She  knew  such  harmony  alone 

Could  hold  all  heaven  and  earth  in  happier  union. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 
A   globe  of   circular  Hght 

That  with  long  beams  the  shamefaced  night  array'd ; 
The  helmed  Cherubim 
And  sworded  Seraphim 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  display'd, 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire 
With  unexpressive  notes,  to  Heaven's  new-bom  Heir. 

54 


When  such  music  sweet 

Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook. 


^^     T 


brook  -  - 


■^^-;-  frmV 


nfy?'-  P;- 


A  '    ' 


h  srrr 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Such  music  (as  'tis  said) 

Before  was  never  made 

But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung, 

While  the  Creator  great 

His  constellation  set 

And  the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges  hung; 

And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 

And  bid  the  weltering  waves  their  oozy  channel  keep. 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres ! 

Once  bless  our  human  ears, 

If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so ; 

And  let  your  silver  chime 

Move  in  melodious  time; 

And  let  the  base  of  heaven's  deep  organ  blow ; 

And  with  your  ninefold  harmony 

Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelic  symphony. 

For  if  such  holy  song 

Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 

Time  will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold; 

And  speckled  vanity 

Will  sicken  soon   and  die. 

And  leprous  sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould ; 

And  Hell  itself  will  pass  away, 

And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day. 

Yea,  Truth  and  Justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men, 

Orb'd  in  a  rainbow ;   and,  like  glories  wearing, 
Mercy  will  sit  between 
Throned  in  celestial  sheen. 

With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering; 
And  Heaven,  as  at  some  festival. 
Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  palace  hall. 

55 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

But  wisest  Fate  says  No; 

This  must  not  yet  be  so ; 

The  Babe  yet  Hes  in  smiling  infancy 

That  on  the  bitter  cross 

Must  redeem  our  loss  ; 

So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify : 

Yet  first,  to  those  ychain'd  in  sleep 

The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the  deep ; 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 

As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang 

While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  outbrake: 

The  aged  Earth  aghast 

With  terror  of  that  blast 

Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shake, 

When,  at  the  world's  last  session, 

The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  His  throne. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 

Full  and  perfect  is, 

But  now  begins ;    for  from  this  happy  day 

The  old  Dragon  under  ground. 

In  straiter  limits  bound. 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway ; 

And,  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail. 

Swinges  the  scaly  horrour  of  his  folded  tail. 

The  oracles  are  dumb; 
No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine, 

With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving: 
No  nightly  trance  or  breathed  spell 
Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetic  cell. 

56 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er 

And  the  resounding  shore 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard,  and  loud  lament; 

From  haunted  spring  and  dale 

Edged  with  poplar  pale 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent; 

With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 

The  Nymplis  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 

In  consecrated  earth 

And  on  the  holy  hearth 

The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint ; 

In  urns,  and  altars  round 

A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights  the  Flamens  at  their  service  quaint; 

And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat. 

While  each  peculiar  Power  foregoes  his  wonted  seat. 

Peor  and  Baalim 

Forsake  their  temples  dim, 

With  that  twice-batter'd  god  of  Palestine ; 

And  mooned  Ashtaroth 

Heaven's  queen  and  mother  both, 

Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers'  holy  shine; 

The  Lybic  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn : 

In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammuz  mourn. 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled. 
Hath  left  in  shadows  dread 
His  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue; 
In  vain  with  cymbals'  ring 
They  call  the  grisly  king. 
In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue ; 
The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast, 
Isis,  and  Orus,  and  the  dog  Anubis,  haste, 

57 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove,  or  green, 

Trampling  the  unshower'd  grass  with  lowings  loud: 

Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 

Within  his   sacred  chest; 

Nought  but  profoundest  Hell  can  be  his  shroud; 

In  vain  with  timbrell'd  anthems  dark 

The  sable  stoled  sorcerers  bear  his  worshipt  ark. 

He  feels  from  Juda's  land 

The  dreaded  infant's  hand; 

The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn ; 

Nor  all  the  gods  beside 

Longer  dare  abide, 

Nor  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine ; 

Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Grodhead  true. 

Can  in  His  swaddling  bands  control  the  damned  crew. 

So,  when  the  sun  in  bed 

Curtain'd  with  cloudy  red 

Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave. 

The  flocking  shadows  pale 

Troop  to  the  infernal  jail. 

Each  fetter'd  ghost  slips  to  his  several  grave ; 

And  the  yellow-skirted  fays 

Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-loved  maze. 

But  see!  the  Virgin  blest 

Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest ; 

Time  is,  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending: 

Heaven's  youngest-teemed  star 

Hath  fix'd  her  polish'd  car. 

Her  sleeping  Lord  with  hand-maid  lamp  attending : 

And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 

Bright-hamess'd  Angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. 

J.  Milton 

58 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


Lxm 

SONG    FOR    ST.    CECILIA'S    DAY 
1687 

FROM  Harmony,  from  heavenly  Harmony 
This  universal  frame  began: 
When  Nature  underneath  a  heap 

Of  jarring  atoms  lay 
And  could  not  heave  her  head, 
The  tuneful  voice  was  heard  from  high, 

Arise,  ye  more  than  dead! 
Then  cold,  and  hot,  and  moist,  and  dry 
In  order  to  their  stations  leap, 
And  Music's  power  obey. 
From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony 
This  universal  frame  began: 
From  harmony  to  harmony 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran. 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  Man. 

What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell? 
When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell 
His  listening  brethren  stood  around, 
And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 
To  worship  that  celestial  sound. 
Less  than  a  god  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 
Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell 
That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well. 
What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell.? 

The  trumpet's  loud  clangor 

Excites  us  to  arms. 
With  shrill  notes  of  anger 

And  mortal  alarms. 
59 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

The  double  double  double  beat 
Of  the  thundering  drum 
Cries  *  Hark !    the  foes  come ; 
Charge,  charge,  't  is  too  late  to  retreat ! ' 

The  soft  complaining  flute 
In  dying  notes  discovers 
The  woes  of  hopeless  lovers, 
Whose  dirge  is  whisper'd  by  the  warbling  lute. 

Sharp  violins  proclaim 
Their  jealous  pangs  and  desperation, 
Fury,  frantic  indignation, 
Depth  of  pains,  and  height  of  passion 

For  the  fair  disdainful  dame. 

But  oh !    what  art  can  teach 
What  human  voice  can  reach 

The  sacred  organ's  praise? 
Notes  inspiring  holy  love. 
Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 

To  mend  the  choirs  above. 

Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race, 
And  trees  unrooted  left  their  place 

Sequacious  of  the  lyre: 
But  bright  Cecilia  raised  the  wonder  higher: 
When  to  her  Organ  vocal  breath  was  given 
An  Angel  heard,  and  straight  appear'd  — 

Mistaking  Earth  for  Heaven. 

Grand  Chorus 

As  from  the  power  of  sacred  lays 

The  spheres  began  to  move, 
And  sung  the  great  Creator's  praise 

To  all  the  blest  above; 

60 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

So  when  the  last  and  dreadful  hour 
This  crumbling  pageant  shall  devour, 
The  trumpet  shall  be  heard  on  high, 
The  dead  shall  live,  the  living  die, 
And  Music  shall  untune  the  sky. 


J.  Dryden 


LXIV 

ON    THE    LATE    MASSACRE    IN    PIEDMONT 

AVENGE,  O  Lord !  Thy  slaughter'd  Saints,  whose  bones 
■^^     Lie  scatter'd  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold; 
Even  them  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old 
When  all  our  fathers  worshipt  stocks  and  stones, 

Forget  not :   In  thy  book  record  their  groans 
Who  were  thy  sheep,  and  in  their  ancient  fold 
Slain  by  the  bloody  Piemontese,  that  roll'd 
Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks.     Their  moans 

The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
To  Heaven.     Their  martyr'd  blood  and  ashes  sow 
O'er  all  the  Italian  fields,  where  still  doth  sway 
The  triple  tyrant :   that  from  these  may  grow 
A  hundred-fold,  who,  having  learnt  Thy  way, 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe. 

J.  Milton 

LXV 

HORATIAN     ODE     UPON     CROMWELL'S 
RETURN    FROM    IRELAND 

THE  forward  youth  that  would  appear. 
Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear, 
Nor  in  the  shadows  sing 
His  numbers  languishing. 
61 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

'T  is  time  to  leave  the  books  in  dust, 
And  oil  the  unused  armour's  rust, 

Removing  from  the  wall 

The  corslet  of  the  hall. 

So  restless  Cromwell  could  not  cease 
In  the  inglorious  arts  of  peace, 

But  through  adventurous  war 

Urged  his  active  star : 

And  like  the  three-fork'd  lightning  first 
Breaking  the  clouds  where  it  was  nurst, 

Did  thorough  his  own  side 

His  fiery  way  divide : 

For  't  is  all  one  to  courage  high. 
The  emulous,  or  enemy ; 

And  with  such,  to  enclose 

Is  more  than  to  oppose ; 

Then  burning  through  the  air  he  went 

And  palaces  and  temples  rent; 
And  Caesar's  head  at  last 
Did  through  his  laurels  blast. 

'T  is  madness  to  resist  or  blame 
The  face  of  angry  heaven's  flame; 

And  if  we  would  speak  true. 

Much  to  the  Man  is  due 

Who,  from  his  private  gardens,  where 
He  lived  reserved  and  austere, 

(As  if  his  highest  plot 

To  plant  the  bergamot,) 

Could  by  industrious  valour  climb 
To  ruin  the  great  work  of  time, 

And  cast  the  Kingdoms  old 

Into  another  mould. 
62 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Though  Justice  against  Fate  complain, 
And  plead  the  ancient  Rights  in  vain  — 
But  those  do  hold  or  break 
As  men  are  strong  or  weak, 

Nature,  that  hateth  emptiness. 

Allows  of  penetration  less, 

And  therefore  must  make  room 
Where  greater  spirits  come. 

What  field  of  all  the  civil  war 
Where  his  were  not  the  deepest  scar? 

And  Hampton  shows  what  part 

He  had  of  wiser  art, 

Where,  twining  subtle  fears  with  hope. 
He  wove  a  net  of  such  a  scope 

That  Charles  himself  might  chase 
To  Carisbrook's  narrow  case, 

That  thence  the  Royal  actor  borne 
The  tragic  scaffold  might  adorn : 
While  round  the  armed  bands 
Did  clap  their  bloody  hands. 

He  nothing  common  did  or  mean 
Upon  that  memorable  scene. 

But  with  his  keener  eye 

The  axe's  edge  did  try ; 

Nor  call'd  the  Gods,  with  vulgar  spite, 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right; 

But  bow'd  his  comely  head 

Down,  as  upon  a  bed. 

—  This  was  that  memorable  hour 
Which  first  assured  the  forced  power: 

So  when  they  did  design 

The  Capitol's  first  line, 
63 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

A  Bleeding  Head,  where  they  begun, 
Did  fright  the  architects  to  run; 

And  yet  in  that  the  State 

Foresaw  its  happy  fate! 

And  now  the  Irish  are  ashamed 
To  see  themselves  in  one  year  tamed : 
So  much  one  man  can  do 
That  does  both  act  and  know. 

They  can  affirm  his  praises  best, 
And  have,  though  overcome,  confest 

How  good  he  is,  how  just 

And  fit  for  highest  trust ; 

Nor  yet  grown  stiffer  with  command. 
But  still  in  the  Republic's  hand  — 

How  fit  he  is  to  sway 

That  can  so  well  obey ! 

He  to  the  Commons'  feet  presents 
A  Kingdom  for  his  first  year's  rents, 

And  (what  he  may)  forbears 

His  fame,  to  make  it  theirs: 

And  has  his  sword  and  spoils  ungirt 
To  lay  them  at  the  Public's  skirt. 

So  when  the  falcon  high 

Falls  heavy  from  the  sky. 

She,  having  kill'd,  no  more  does  search 
But  on  the  next  green  bough  to  perch, 

Where,  when  he  first  does  lure. 

The  falconer  has  her  sure. 

—  What  may  not  then  our  Isle  presume 
While  victory  his  crest  does  plume.'' 
What  may  not  others  fear 
If  thus  he  crowns  each  year.f* 
64 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

As  Caesar  he,  ere  long,  to  Gaul, 
To  Italy  an  Hannibal, 

And  to  all  States  not  free 

Shall  chmaterie  be. 

The  Pict  no  shelter  now  shall  find 

Within  his  parti-colour'd  mind, 
But  from  this  valour  sad. 
Shrink  underneath  the  plaid  — 

Happy,  if  in  the  tufted  brake 
The  English  hunter  him  mistake, 

Nor  lay  his  hounds  in  near 

The  Caledonian  deer. 

But  Thou,  the  War's  and  Fortune's  son, 
March  indefatigably  on; 

And  for  the  last  effect 

Still  keep  the  sword  erect : 

Besides  the  force  it  has  to  fright 
The  spirits  of  the  shady  night. 

The  same  arts  that  did  gain 

A  power,  must  it  maintain. 

A.  MABVELIi 
LXVI 

LYCIDAS 

Elegy  on  a  Friend  drowned  in  the  Irish  Channel 

YET  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more 
Ye  m3^rtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 
I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  harsh  and  crude, 
And  with  forced  fingers  rude 
Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year 

65 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Bitter  constraint  and  sad  occasion  dear 
Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due: 
For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 
Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer : 
Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas  ?  he  knew 
Himself  to  sing,  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 
He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind, 
Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  tear. 

Begin  then.  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well 
That  from  beneath  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring; 
Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string; 
Hence  with  denial  vain  and  coy  excuse: 
So  may  some  gentle  Muse 
With  lucky  words  favour  my  destined  urn ; 
And  as  he  passes,  turn 
And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud. 

For  we  were  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hill, 
Fed  the  same  flock  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill. 
Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appear'd 
Under  the  opening  eye-lids  of  the  Mom, 
We  drove  a-field,  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  gray-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn. 
Battening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night ; 
Oft  till  the  star,  that  rose  at  evening  bright. 
Toward  heaven's  descent  had  sloped  his  westering  wheel. 
Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute, 
Temper'd  to  the  oaten  flute; 

Rough  Satyrs  danced,  and  Fauns  with  cloven  heel 
From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long; 
And   old   Damoetas   loved   to   hear   our   song. 

But,  O  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return ! 

66 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Thee,  Shepherd,  thee  the  woods  and  desert  caves 

With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'crgrown, 

And  all  their  echoes,  mourn: 

The  willows  and  the  hazel  copses  green 

Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 

Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays: — • 

As  killing  as  the  canker  to  the  rose. 

Or  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that  graze, 

Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrobe  wear 

When  first  the  white-thorn  blows ; 

Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherd's  ear. 

Where  were  ye.  Nymphs,  when  the  remorseless  deep 
Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas? 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  Druids,  lie, 
Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high. 
Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wizard  stream : 
Ay  me !     I  fondly  dream  — 

Had  ye  been  there  —  for  what  could  that  have  done? 
What  could  the  Muse  herself  that  Orpheus  bore. 
The  Muse  herself,  for  her  enchanting  son, 
Whom  universal  nature  did  lament. 
When  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar 
His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 
Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore? 

Alas !  what  boots  it  with  uncessant  care 
To  tend  the  homely,  slighted,  shepherd's  trade 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse? 
Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use, 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair? 
Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind) 
To  scorn  delights,  and  live  laborious  days ; 

67 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

But  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze. 
Comes  the  Wind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears 
And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.     '  But  not  the  praise ' 
Phoebus  replied,  and  touch'd  my  trembling  ears ; 
'  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil. 
Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies: 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all- judging  Jove; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed. 
Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed.' 

O  fountain  Arethuse,  and  thou  honour'd  flood 
Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crown'd  with  vocal  reeds ! 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood: 
But  now  my  oat  proceeds, 
And  listens  to  the  herald  of  the  sea 
That  came  in  Neptune's  plea; 
He  ask'd  the  waves,  and  ask'd  the  felon  winds. 
What  hard  mishap  hath  doom'd  this  gentle  swain? 
And  question'd  every  gust  of  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory: 
They  knew  not  of  his  story; 
And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 
That  not  a  blast  was  from  his  dungeon  stray'd ; 
The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 
Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  play'd. 
It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark 
Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark, 
That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow, 
His  mantle  hairy,  and  his  bonnet  sedge 
Inwrought  with  figures  dim,  and  on  the  edge 

68 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Like  to  that  sanguine  flower  inscribed  with  woe: 
'  Ah !  who  hath  reft,'  quoth  he,  '  my  dearest  pledge ! ' 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go 
The  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake ; 
Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain 
(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain)  ; 
He  shook  his  mitred  locks,  and  stern  bespake : 
*  How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 
Enow  of  such,  as  for  their  bellies'  sake 
Creep  and  intrude  and  climb  into  the  fold ! 
Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 
And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest ; 
Blind  mouths !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold 
A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learn'd  aught  else  the  least 
That  to  the  faithful  herdman's  art  belongs ! 
What  recks  it  them?    What  need  they ?     They  are  sped; 
And  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 
Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw ; 
The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed, 
But  swoln  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw 
Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread: 
Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 
Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said : 
—  But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 
Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more.' 

Return,  Alpheus ;    the  dread  voice  is  past 
That  shrunk  thy  streams ;  return,  Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  bells  and  flowerets  of  a  thousand  hues. 
Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 
Of  shades,  and  wanton  winds,  and  gushing  brooks 
On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart  star  sparely  looks; 
Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enamell'd  eyes 
That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honey'd  showers 

69 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 

Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies, 

The  tufted  crow-toe,  and  pale  jessamine, 

The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  f reak'd  with  j  et, 

The  glowing  violet. 

The  musk-rose,  and  the  well-attired  woodbine. 

With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head, 

And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears : 

Bid  amarantus  all  his  beauty  shed. 

And  daffodillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears 

To  strew  the  laureat  hearse  where  Lycid  lies. 

For  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease. 

Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise; 

Ay  me !  whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding  seas 

Wash  far  away,  —  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurl'd. 

Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides 

Where  thou  perhaps,  under  the  whelming  tide, 

Visitest  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world ; 

Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 

Sleep'st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old. 

Where  the  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount 

Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold, 

—  Look  homeward.  Angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth : 
—  And,  O  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth ! 

Weep  no  more,  woeful  shepherds,  weep  no  more. 
For  Lycidas,  your  sorrow,  is  not  dead. 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watery  floor; 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed. 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky: 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high 
Through  the  dear  might  of  Him  that  walk'd  the  waves ; 
Where,  other  groves  and  other  streams  along, 
With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves, 

70 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptial  song 
In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 
There  entertain  him  all  the  saints  above 
In  solemn  troops,  and  sweet  societies, 
That  sing,  and  singing,  in  their  glory  move. 
And  wipe  the  tears  for  ever  from  his  eyes. 
Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more; 
Henceforth  thou  art  the  Genius  of  the  shore 
In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 
To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 

Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills, 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  gray ; 
He  touch'd  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills. 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay : 
And  now  the  sun  had  stretch'd  out  all  the  hills. 
And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay : 
At  last  he  rose,  and  twitch'd  his  mantle  blue: 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods,  and  pastures  new. 

J.  Milton 


xxvn 
ON    THE    TOMBS    IN    WESTMINSTER    ABBEY 

MORTALITY,  behold  and  fear 
What  a  change  of  flesh  is  here! 
Think  how  many  royal  bones 
Sleep  within  these  heaps  of  stones ; 
Here  they  lie,  had  realms  and  lands. 
Who  now  want  strength  to  stir  their  hands, 
Where  from  their  pulpits  seal'd  with  dust 
They  preach, '  In  greatness  is  no  trust.' 
Here 's  an   acre  sown  indeed 
With  the  richest  royallest  seed 

71 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

That  the  earth  did  e'er  suck  In 

Since  the  first  man  died  for  sin : 

Here  the  bones  of  birth  have  cried 

*  Though  gods  they  were,  as  men  they  died ! ' 

Here  are  sands,  ignoble  things, 

Dropt  from  the  ruin'd  sides  of  kings : 

Here  's  a  world  of  pomp  and  state 

Buried  in  dust,  once  dead  by  fate. 


F.  Beaumont 


liXVin 
THE    LAST    CONQUEROR 

VICTORIOUS  men  of  earth,  no  more 
Proclaim  how  wide  your  empires  are ; 
Though  you  bind-in  every  shore 
And  your  triumphs  reach  as  far 

As  night  or  day, 
Yet  you,  proud  monarchs,  must  obey 
And  mingle  with  forgotten  ashes,  when 
Death  calls  ye  to  the  crowd  of  common  men. 

Devouring  Famine,  Plague,  and  War, 

Each  able  to  undo  mankind, 
Death's  servile  emissaries  are ; 
Nor  to  these  alone  confined. 

He  hath  at  will 
More  quaint  and  subtle  ways  to  kill; 
A  smile  or  kiss,  as  he  will  use  the  art, 
Shall  have  the  cunning  skill  to  break  a  heart. 

J.  Shirley 


72 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


Lxrx 


DEATH    THE    LEVELLER 

THE  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 
Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things ; 
There  is  no  armour  against  fate ; 

Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings : 
Sceptre  and  Crown 
Must  tumble  doAvn, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 

And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill: 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield ; 
They  tame  but  one  another  still: 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate, 
And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath 
When  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow; 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds ; 
Upon  Death's  purple  altar  now 

See  where  the  victor-victim  bleeds: 
Your  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb; 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  their  dust. 

J.  Shirley 


73 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


LXX 


WHEN   THE   ASSAULT   WAS   INTENDED   TO 

THE    CITY 

CAPTAIN,  or  Colonel,  or  Knight  in  arms. 
Whose  chance  on  these  defenceless  doors  may  seize, 
If  deed  of  honour  did  thee  ever  please. 
Guard  them,  and  him  within  protect  from  harms. 
He  can  requite  thee;    for  he  knows  the  charms 
That  call  fame  on  such  gentle  acts  as  these, 
And  he  can  spread  thy  name  o'er  lands  and  seas, 
Whatever  clime  the  sun's  bright  circle  warms. 

Lift  not  thy  spear  against  the  Muses'  bower: 
The  great  Emathian  conqueror  bid  spare 
The  house  of  Pindarus,  when  temple  and  tower 
Went  to  the  ground:    and  the  repeated  air 
Of  sad  Electra's  poet  had  the  power 
To  save  the  Athenian  walls  from  ruin  bare. 

J.  Milton 


LXXI 

ON    HIS    BLINDNESS 

WHEN   I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 
Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide,  — 
Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  denied? 
I  fondly  ask :  —  But  Patience,  to  prevent 

74 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

That  murmur,  soon  replies ;   God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts :   who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best :   His  state 

Is  kingly ;   thousands  at  his  bidding  speed 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest :  — 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. 

J.  Milton 

Lxxn 
CHARACTER    OF    A    HAPPY    LIFE 

HOW  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another's  will; 
Whose  armour  is  his  honest  thought 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are, 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death, 
Not  tied  unto  the  world  with  care 
Of  public  fame,  or  private  breath; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise 
Or  vice ;    Who  never  understood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good: 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumours  freed, 
Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great; 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend ; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  well-chosen  book  or  friend; 

75 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

—  This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall; 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands ; 
And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sib  H.  Wotton 


Lxxm 


THE    NOBLE    NATURE 


I 


T  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 

In  bulk,  doth  make  Man  better  be ; 
Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 
To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sere: 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night  — 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  Light 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see; 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be. 

B.  JONSON 


I.XXIV 

THE    GIFTS    OF    GOD 

T  X  THEN  God  at  first  made  Man, 

'    »        Having  a  glass  of  blessings  standing  by ; 
Let  us  (said  he)  pour  on  him  all  we  can: 
Let  the  world's  riches,  which  dispersed  He, 
Contract  into  a  span. 
76 


SONGS     AND    LYRICS 

So  strength  first  made  a  way ; 
Then  beauty  flow'd,  then  wisdom,  honour,  pleasure : 
When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay, 
Perceiving  that  alone,  of  all  his  treasure 

Rest  in  the  bottom  lay. 

For  if  I  should  (said  he) 
Bestow  this  jewel  also  on  my  creature, 
He  would  adore  my  gifts  instead  of  me, 
And  rest  in  Nature,  not  the  God  of  Nature, 

So  both  should  losers  be. 

Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest. 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness: 
Let  him  be  rich  and  weary,  that  at  least, 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 

May  toss  him  to  my  breeist. 

G.  Herbeut 


LXXV 

THE    RETREAT 

HAPPY  those  early  days,  when  I 
Shined  in  my  Angel-infancy! 
Before  I  understood  this  place 
Appointed  for  my  second  race. 
Or  taught  my  soul  to  fancy  aught 
But  a  white,  celestial  thought; 
When  yet  I  had  not  walk'd  above 
A  mile  or  two  from  my  first  Love, 
And  looking  back,  at  that  short  space 
Could  see  a  glimpse  of  his  bright  face ; 
When  on  some  gilded  cloud  or  flower 
My  gazing  soul  would  dwell  an  hour, 

77 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

And  in  those  weaker  glories  spy 

Some  shadows  of  eternity ; 

Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 

My  conscience  with  a  sinful  sound, 

Or  had  the  black  art  to  dispense 

A  several  sin  to  every  sense, 

But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly  dress 

Bright   shoots   of   everlastingness. 

O  how  I  long  to  travel  back. 
And  tread  again  that  ancient  track! 
That  I  might  once  more  reach  that  plain 
Where  first  I  felt  my  glorious  train ; 
From  whence  th'  enlighten'd  spirit  sees 
That  shady  City  of  Palm  trees ! 
But  ah !  my  soul  with  too  much  stay 
Is  drunk,  and  staggers  in  the  way :  — 
Some  men  a  forward  motion  love, 
But  I  by  backward  steps  would  move ; 
And  when  this  dust  falls  to  the  urn. 
In  that  state  I  came,  return. 

H.  Vaughan 


LXXVI 

TO    MR.    LAWRENCE 

LAWRENCE,  of  virtuous  father  virtuous  son. 
Now  that  the  fields  are  dank  and  ways  are  mire, 
Where  shall  we  sometimes  meet,  and  by  the  fire 
Help  waste  a  sullen  day,  what  may  be  won 

From  the  hard  season  gaining?     Time  will  run 
On  smoother,  till  Favonius  re-inspire 
The  frozen  earth,  and  clothe  in  fresh  attire 
The  lily  and  rose,  that  neither  sow'd  nor  spun. 

78 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

What  neat  repast  shall  feast  us,  light  and  choice, 
Of  Attic  taste,  with  wine,  whence  we  may  rise 
To  hear  the  lute  well  touch'd  or  artful  voice 

Warble  immortal  notes  and  Tuscan  air? 

He  who  of  those  delights  can  judge,  and  spare 

To  interpose  them  oft,  is  not  unwise. 


J.  Milton 


XiXxvn 
TO    CYRIACK    SKINNER 

CYRIACK,  whose  grandsire,  on  the  royal  bench 
Of  British  Themis,  with  no  mean  applause 
Pronounced,  and  in  his  volumes  taught,  our  laws, 
Which  others  at  their  bar  so  often  wrench; 

To-day  deep  thoughts  resolve  with  me  to  drench 

In  mirth,  that  after  no  repenting  draws ; 

Let  Euclid  rest,  and  Archimedes  pause. 

And  what  the  Swede  intends,  and  what  the  French. 

To  measure  life  learn  thou  betimes,  and  know 
Toward  solid  good  what  leads  the  nearest  way  ; 
For  other  things  mild  Heaven  a  time  ordains. 

And  disapproves  that  care,  though  wise  in  show, 
That  with  superfluous  burden  loads  the  day, 
And,  when  God  sends  a  cheerful  hour,  refrains. 

J.  Milton 


79 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


L.xxvm 
HYMN    TO    DIANA 

QUEEN  and  Huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 
Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep, 
Seated  in  thy  silver  chair 

State  in  wonted  manner  keep: 
Hesperus  entreats  thy  light. 
Goddess  excellently  bright. 

Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose; 
Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  clear  when  day  did  close: 
Bless  us  then  with  wished  sight, 
Goddess  excellently  bright. 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart 

And  thy  crystal-shining  quiver; 
Give  unto  the  flying  hart 

Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever: 
Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  night. 
Goddess  excellently  bright ! 

B.  JONSON 


LXXIX 

WISHES    FOR    THE    SUPPOSED    MISTRESS 

WHOE'ER  she  be. 
That  not  impossible  She 
That  shall  command  my  heart  and  me ; 

80 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Where'er  she  He, 

Lock'd  up  from  mortal  eye 

In  shady  leaves  of  destiny: 

Till  that  ripe  birth 

Of  studied  Fate  stand  forth, 

And  teach  her  fair  steps  tread  our  earth ; 

Till  that  divine 

Idea  take  a  shrine 

Of  crystal  flesh,  through  which  to  shine: 

—  Meet  you  her,  my  Wishes, 

Bespeak  her  to  my  blisses. 

And  be  ye  call'd,  my  absent  kisses. 

I  wish  her  beauty 

That  owes  not  all  its  duty 

To  gaudy  tire,  or  glist'ring  shoe-tie: 

Something  more  than 
Taffata  or  tissue  can, 
Or  rampant  feather,  or  rich  fan. 

A  face  that 's  best 

By  its  own  beauty  drest. 

And   can   alone   commend   the   rest: 

A   face   made  up 

Out  of  no   other  shop 

Than  what  Nature's  white  hand  sets  ope. 

Sydneian  showers 

Of  sweet  discourse,  whose  powers 

Can  crown  old  Winter's  head  with  flowers. 

Whate'er  delight 
Can  make  day's  forehead  bright 
Or  give  down  to  the  wings  of  night. 

81 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Soft  silken  hours, 

Open  suns,  shady  bowers ; 

'Bove  all,  nothing  within  that  lowers. 

Days,  that  need  borrow 

No  part  of  their  good  morrow 

From  a  fore-spent  night  of  sorrow: 

Days,  that  in  spite 

Of  darkness,  by  the  light 

Of  a  clear  mind  are  day  all  night. 

Life,  that  dares  send 

A  challenge  to  his  end. 

And  when  it  comes,  say,  '  Welcome,  friend.' 

I  wish  her  store 

Of  worth  may  leave  her  poor 

Of  wishes ;  and  I  wish no  more. 

—  Now,  if  Time  knows 

That  Her,  whose  radiant  brows 

Weave  them  a  garland  of  my  vows ; 

Her  that  dares  be 

What  these  lines  wish  to  see: 

I  seek  no  further,  it  is  She. 

'T  is  She,  and  here 

Lo !  I  unclothe  and  clear 

My  wishes'  cloudy  character. 

Such  worth  as  this  is 
Shall  fix  my  flying  wishes. 
And  determine  them  to  kisses. 

Let  her  full  glory, 

My  fancies,  fly  before  ye; 

Be  ye  my  fictions :  —  but  her  story. 

R.  Ceashaw 
82 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

I.XXX 

THE    GREAT    ADVENTURER 

OVER  the  mountains 
And  over  the  waves, 
Under  the  fountains 
And  under  the  graves ; 
Under  floods  that  are  deepest, 
Which  Neptune  obey ; 
Over  rocks  that  are  steepest 
Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Where  there  is  no  place 

For  the  glow-worm  to  lie ; 

Where  there  is  no  space 

For  receipt  of  a  fly ; 

Where  the  midge  dares  not  venture 

Lest  herself  fast  she  lay ; 

If  love  come,  he  will  enter 

And  soon  find  out  his  way. 

You  may  esteem  him 

A  child  for  his  might; 

Or  you  may  deem  him 

A  coward  from  his  flight ; 

But  if  she  whom  love  doth  honour 

Be  conceal'd  from  the  day. 

Set  a  thousand  guards  upon  her, 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Some  think  to  lose  him 
By  having  him  confined ; 
And  some  do  suppose  him, 
Poor  thing,  to  be  blind ; 
8S 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

But  if  ne'er  so  close  ye  wall  him, 
Do  the  best  that  you  may, 
Blind  love,  if  so  ye  call  him. 
Will  find  out  his  way. 

You  may  train  the  eagle 
To  stoop  to  your  fist; 
Or  you  may  inveigle 
The  phoenix  of  the  east ; 
The  lioness,  ye  may  move  her 
To  give  o'er  her  prey ; 
But  you  '11  ne'er  stop  a  lover : 
He  will  find  out  his  way. 

Anon. 


liXXXI 

CHILD    AND    MAIDEN 

AH,  Chloris !  could  I  now  but  sit 
'•     As  unconcern'd  as  when 
Your  infant  beauty  could  beget 

No  happiness  or  pain! 
When  I  the  dawn  used  to  admire. 

And  praised  the  coming  day, 
I  little  thought  the  rising  fire 
Would  take  my  rest  away. 

Your  charms  in  harmless  childhood  lay 

Like  metals  in  a  mine; 
Age  from  no  face  takes  more  away 

Than  youth  conceal'd  in  thine. 
But  as  your  charms  insensibly 

To  their  perfection  prest. 
So  love  as  unperceived  did  fly. 

And  center'd  in  my  breast. 
84 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

My  passion  with  your  beauty  grew, 

While  Cupid  at  my  heart 
Still  as  his  mother  favour'd  you 

Threw  a  new  flaming  dart : 
Each  gloried  in  their  wanton  part ; 

To  make  a  lover,  he 
Employ'd  the  utmost  of  his  art  — 

To  make  a  beauty,  she. 


SiE  C.  Sedlet 


L,xxxn 


COUNSEL    TO    GIRLS 

GATHER  ye  rose-buds  while  ye  may, 
Old  Time  is  still  a-flying : 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day, 
To-morrow  will  be  dying. 

The  glorious  Lamp  of  Heaven,  the  Sun, 

The  higher  he  's  a-getting 
The  sooner  will  his  race  be  run. 

And  nearer  he  's  to  setting. 

That  age  is  best  which  is  the  first. 
When  youth  and  blood  are  warmer ; 

But  being  spent,  the  worse,  and  worst 
Times,  still  succeed  the  former. 

Then  be  not  coy,  but  use  your  time ; 

And  while  ye  may,  go  marry : 
For  having  lost  but  once  your  prime, 

You  may  for  ever  tarry. 

R.  Heerick 


85 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


liXxxm 
TO    LUCASTA,    ON    GOING    TO    THE    WARS 

TELL  me  not,  Sweet,  I  am  unkind 
That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind, 
To  war  and  arms  I  fly. 

True,  a  new  mistress  now  I  chase. 

The  first  foe  in  the  field ; 
And  with  a  stronger  faith  embrace 

A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 

Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such 

As  you  too  shall  adore ; 
I  could  not  love  thee,  Dear,  so  much, 

Loved  I  not  Honour  more. 

Colonel  Lovelace 


LXXXIV 

ELIZABETH    OF    BOHEMIA 

YOU  meaner  beauties  of  the  night. 
That  poorly  satisfy  our  eyes 
More  by  your  number  than  your  light. 

You  common  people  of  the  skies. 
What  are  you,  when  the  Moon  shall  rise? 

Ye  violets  that  first  appear, 

By  your  pure  purple  mantles  known 

Like  the  proud  virgins  of  the  year. 
As  if  the  spring  were  all  your  own,  — 

What  are  you,  when  the  Rose  is  blown.? 

86 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Ye  curious  chanters  of  the  wood 

That  warble  lorth  dame  Nature's  lays, 

Thinking  your  passions  understood 

By  your  weak  accents ;   what 's  your  praise 

When  Philomel  her  voice  doth  raise? 

So  when  my  Mistress  shall  be  seen 

In  sweetness  of  her  looks  and  mind, 
By  virtue  first,  then  choice,  a  Queen, 

Tell  me,  if  she  were  not  design'd 
Th'  echpse  and  glory  of  her  kind? 

Sir  H.  Wotton 


LXXXV 

TO    THE    LADY    MARGARET    LEY 

T^AUGHTER  to  that  good  Earl,  once  President 
■*— ^      Of  England's  council  and  her  treasury. 
Who  lived  in  both,  unstain'd  with  gold  or  fee, 
And  left  them  both,  more  in  himself  content, 

Till  the  sad  breaking  of  that  parliament 

Broke  him,  as  that  dishonest  victory 

At  Chaeronea,  fatal  to  liberty, 

Kill'd  with  report  that  old  man  eloquent ;  — 

Though  later  born  than  to  have  known  the  days 
Wherein  your  father  flourish'd,  yet  by  you, 
Madam,  methinks  I  see  him  living  yet ; 

So  well  your  words  his  noble  virtues  praise. 
That  all  both  judge  you  to  relate  them  true, 
And  to  possess  them,  honour'd  Margaret. 

J.  Milton 
8T 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


liXXXVI 

THE    LOVELINESS    OF    LOVE 

IT  is  not  Beauty  I  demand, 
A  crystal  brow,  the  moon's  despair, 
Nor  the  snow's  daughter,  a  white  hand. 
Nor  mermaid's  yellow  pride  of  hair: 

Tell  me  not  of  your  starry  eyes. 
Your  lips  that  seem  on  roses  fed, 

Your  breasts,  where  Cupid  tumbling  lies 
Nor  sleep  for  kissing  of  his  bed :  — 

A  bloomy  pair  of  vermeil  cheeks 
Like  Hebe's  in  her  ruddiest  hours, 

A  breath  that  softer  music  speaks 

Than  summer  winds  a-wooing  flowers, 

These  are  but  gauds :   nay,  what  are  lips : 
Coral  beneath  the  ocean-stream, 

Whose  brink  when  your  adventurer  shps 
Full  oft  he  perisheth  on  them. 

And  what  are  cheeks  but  ensigns  oft 
That  wave  hot  youth  to  fields  of  blood? 

Did  Helen's  breast,  though  ne'er  so  soft. 
Do  Greece  or  Ilium  any  good? 

Eyes  can  with  baleful  ardour  burn ; 

Poison  can  breathe,  than  erst  perfumed; 
There  's  many  a  white  hand  holds  an  urn 

With  lovers'  hearts  to  dust  consumed. 
88 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

For  crystal  brows  there  's  nought  within ; 

They  are  but  empty  cells  for  pride; 
He  who  the  Syren's  hair  would  win 

Is  mostly  strangled  in  the  tide. 

Give  me,  instead  of  Beauty's  bust, 
A  tender  heart,  a  loyal  mind 

Which  with  temptation  I  would  trust, 
Yet  never  link'd  with  error  find,  — 

One  in  whose  gentle  bosom  I 

Could  pour  my  secret  heart  of  woes. 

Like  the  case-burthen'd  honey-fly 

That  hides  his  murmurs  in  the  rose  — 

My  earthly  Comforter !  whose  love 

So  indefeasible  mig-ht  be 
That,  when  my  spirit  wonn'd  above 

Hers  could  not  stay,  for  sympathy. 

Anon.^ 


UDCxvn 

THE    TRUE    BEAUTY 

T  TE  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek 
■*■  -'■  Or  a  coral  lip  admires, 
Or  from  star-like  eyes  doth  seek 

Fuel    to    maintain   his    fires ; 
As  old  Time  makes  these  decay. 
So  his  flames  must  waste  away. 

But  a  smooth  and  steadfast  mind. 
Gentle  thoughts,  and  calm  desires, 

»  By  George  Darley  (1795-1846) 
89 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Hearts  with  equal  love  combined, 

Kindle  neA'^er-dying  fires  :  — 
Where  these  are  not,  I  despise 
Lovely  cheeks  or  lips  or  eyes. 

T.  Carew 


Lxxxvni 
TO    DIANEME 

SVVEET,  be  not  proud  of  those  two  eyes 
Which  starlike  sparkle  in  their  skies ; 
Nor  be  you  proud,  that  you  can  see 
All  hearts  your  captives ;    yours  yet  free : 
Be  you  not  proud  of  that  rich  hair 
Which  wantons  with  the  lovesick  air; 
Whenas  that  ruby  wliich  you  wear, 
Sunk  from  the  tip  of  your  soft  ear, 
Will  last  to  be  a  precious  stone 
When  all  your  world  of  beauty  's  gone. 

R.  Heerick 


LXXXIX 

GO,  lovely  Rose! 
Tell  her,  that  wastes  her  time  and  me. 
That   now   she   knows. 
When   I   resemble   her   to   thee. 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that 's  young 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied. 

That  hadst  thou  sprung 
In  deserts,  where  no  men  abide, 
Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

90 


SONGS     AND    LYRICS 

Small  is  the  worth 
Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired: 

Bid  her  come  forth, 
Suffer  herself  to  be  desired, 
And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die!    that  she 
The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee: 
How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 
They  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair ! 

E.  Waller 


xc 
TO    CELIA 

DRINK  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup 
And  I  '11  not  look  for  wine. 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine ; 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 
I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honouring  thee 
As  giving  it  a  hope  that  there 

It, could  not  wither'd  be; 
But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe 

And  send'st  it  back  to  me ; 
Since  when  it  grows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself  but  thee ! 

B.   JONSON 

91 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

XCI 

CHERRY-RIPE 

THERE  is  a  garden  in  her  face 
Where  roses  and  white  hhes  blow; 
A  heavenly  paradise  is  that  place, 

Wherein  all  pleasant  fruits  do  grow ; 
There  cherries  grow  that  none  may  buy, 
Till  Cherry-Ripe  themselves  do  cry. 

Those  cherries  fairly  do  enclose 

Of  orient  pearl  a  double  row, 
Which  when  her  lovely  laughter  shows. 

They  look  like  rose-buds  fill'd  with  snow: 
Yet  them  no  peer  nor  prince  may  buy. 
Till  Cherry-Ripe  themselves  do  cry. 

Her  eyes  like  angels  watch  them  still ; 

Her  brows  like  bended  bows  do  stand, 
Threat'ning  with  piercing  frowns  to  kill 

All  that  approach  with  eye  or  hand 
These  sacred  cherries  to  come  nigh, 
Till  Cherry-Ripe  themselves  do  cry ! 

Anon. 

xcn 
THE    rOETRY    OF    DRESS 


A  SWEET  disorder  in  the  dress 
Kindles  in  clothes  a  wantonness : 
A  lawn  about  the  shoulders  thrown 
Into  a  fine  distraction,  — 
92 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

An  erring  lace,  which  here  and  there 
Enthrals  the  crimson  stomacher,  — 
A  cuff  neglectful,  and  thereby 
Ribbands  to  flow  confusedly,  — 
A  winning  wave,  deserving  note, 
In  the  tempestuous  petticoat,  — 
A  careless  shoe-string,  in  whose  tie 
I  see  a  wild  civility,  — 
Do  more  bewitch  me,  than  when  art 
Is  too  precise  in  every  part. 

R.  Herrick 


xcni 


WHENAS  in  silks  my  Julia  goes 
Then,  then  (methinks)  how  sweetly  flows 
That  liquefaction  of  her  clothes. 

Next,  when  I  cast  mine  eyes  and  see 
That  brave  vibration  each  way  free ; 
O  how  that  glittering  taketh  me! 

R.  Herrick 


xcrv 


S 


1\^Y  Love  in  her  attire  doth  shew  her  wit, 
■^^ -^      It  doth  so  well  become  her: 
For  every  season  she  hath  dressings  fit. 
For  Winter,  Spring,  and  Summer. 
93 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

No  beauty  she  doth  miss 
When  all  her  robes  are  on: 
But  Beauty's  self  she  is 
When  all  her  robes  are  gone. 

ANOlf. 


xcv 
ON    A    GIRDLE 

THAT  which  her  slender  waist  confined 
Shall  now  my  j  oyf ul  temples  bind  : 
No  monarch  but  would  give  his  crown 
His  arms  might  do  what  this  has  done. 

It  was  my  Heaven's  extremest  sphere, 
The  pale  which  held  that  lovely  deer : 
■^^y  joj'  rny  g^isf,  my  hope,  my  love 
Did  all  within  this  circle  move. 

A  narrow  compass  !   and  yet  there 
Dwelt  all  that  's  good,  and  all  that  's  fair : 
Give  me  but  what  this  ribband  bound, 
Take  all  the  rest  the  Sun  goes  round. 

E.  Waller 


xcvi 

TO    ANTHEA    WHO    MAY    COMMAND    HIM 

ANY    THING 

BID  me  to  live,  and  I  will  live 
Thy  Protestant  to  be: 
Or  bid  me  love,  and  I  will  give 
A  loving  heart  to  thee. 
94 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

A  heart  as  soft,  a  heart  as  kind, 

A  heart  as  sound  and  free 
As  in  the  whole  world  thou  canst  find 

That  heart  I  '11  give  to  thee. 

Bid  that  heart  stay,  and  it  will  stay. 

To  honour  thy  decree: 
Or  bid  it  languish  quite  away, 

And  't  shall  do  so  for  thee. 

Bid  me  to  weep,  and  I  will  weep 

While  I  have  eyes  to  see: 
And  having  none,  yet  I  will  keep 

A  heart  to  weep  for  thee. 

Bid  me  despair,  and  I  '11  despair, 

Under  that  cypress  tree: 
Or  bid  me  die,  and  I  will  dare 

E'en  Death,  to  die  for  thee. 

Thou  art  my  life,  my  love,  my  heart, 

The  very  eyes  of  me. 
And  hast  command  of  every  part. 

To  live  and  die  for  thee. 

R.  Herrick 


xcvn 

LOVE  not  me  for  comely  grace. 
For  my  pleasing  eye  or  face, 
Nor  for  any  outward  part, 
No,  nor  for  my  constant  heart,  — 
For  those  may  fail,  or  turn  to  ill, 
So  thou  and  I  shall  sever: 
95 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Keep  therefore  a  true  woman's  eye, 
And  love  me  still,  but  know  not  why  — 
So  hast  thou  the  same  reason  still 
To  doat  upon  me  ever! 

Anon. 


xcvin 

NOT,  Celia,  that  I  juster  am 
Or  better  than  the  rest ; 
For  I  would  change  each  hour,  like  them, 
Were  not  my  heart  at  rest. 

But  I  am  tied  to  very  thee 

By  every  thought  I  have; 
Thy  face  I  only  care  to  see, 

Thy  heart  I  only  crave. 

All  that  in  woman  is  adored 

In  thy  dear  self  I  find  — 
For  the  whole  sex  can  but  afford 

The  handsome  and  the  kind. 

.  Why  then  should  I  seek  further  store, 

And  still  make  love  anew.? 
When  change  itself  can  give  no  more, 
'T  is  easy  to  be  true. 

Slr  C.  Sedlet 


xcix 
TO    ALTHEA    FROM    PRISON 

WHEN  Love  with  unconfined  wings 
Hovers  within  my  gates, 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 
To  whisper  at  the  grates ; 
96 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair 

And  fetter'd  to  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  careless  heads  with  roses  crown'd, 

Our  hearts  with  loval  flames ; 
When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 

When  healths  and  draughts  go  free  — 
Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When,  linnet-like  confined  I 

With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 
The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty 

And  glories  of  my  King; 
When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  great  should  be. 
Enlarged  winds,  that  curl  the  flood, 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage ; 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love 

And  in  my  soul  am  free. 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 

Colonel.  Lovelace 


97 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


TO    LUCASTA,    GOING    BEYOND    THE    SEAS 


I 


F  to  be  absent  were  to  be 
Away  from  thee; 
Or   that   when   I   am   gone 
You  or  I  were  alone; 
Then,  my  Lucasta,  might  I  crave 
Pity  from  blustering  wind,  or  swallowing  wave. 

Though  seas  and  land  betwixt  us  both. 
Our  faith  and  troth. 
Like  separated  souls. 
All  time  and  space  controls : 
Above  the  highest  sphere  we  meet 
Unseen,  unknown,  and  greet  as  Angels  greet. 

So  then  we  do  anticipate 
Our  after-fate. 
And  are  alive  i'  the  skies. 
If  thus  our  lips  and  eyes 
Can  speak  like  spirits  unconfined 
In  Heaven,  their  earthy  bodies  left  behind. 

Colonel  Lovelace 


CI 

ENCOURAGEMENTS    TO    A    LOVER 

WHY  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover? 
Prythee,  why  so  pale? 
Will,  if  looking  well  can't  jnove  her, 
Looking  ill  prevail? 
Prythee,  why  so  pale? 
98 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Why  so  dull  and  mute,  young  sinner? 

Pry  thee,  why  so  mute? 
Will,  when  speaking  well  can't  win  her. 

Saying  notliing  do  't? 

Pry  thee,  why  so  mute? 

Quit,  quit,  for  shame !  this  will  not  move, 

This  cannot  take  her ; 
If  of  herself  she  will  not  love. 

Nothing  can  make  her: 

TheD  —  1  take  her! 


Sir  J.  Suckling 


en 
A    SUPPLICATION 

AWAKE,  awake,  my  Lyre ! 
And  tell  thy  silent  master's  humble  tale 
In  sounds  that  may  prevail ; 
Sounds  that  gentle  thoughts  inspire : 
Though  so  exalted  she 
And  I  so  lowly  be 
Tell  her,  such  different  notes  make  all  thy  harmony. 

Hark,  how  the  strings  awake : 
And,  though  the  moving  hand  approach  not  near. 

Themselves  with  awful  fear 
A  kind  of  numerous  trembling  make. 

Now  all  thy  forces  try  ; 

Now  all  thy  charms  apply ; 
Revenge  upon  her  ear  the  conquests  of  her  eye. 

Weak  Lyre !  thy  virtue  sure 
Is  useless  here,  since  thou  art  only  found 
To  cure,  but  not  to  wound, 
And  she  to  wound,  but  not  to  cure. 

99 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Too  weak  too  wilt  thou  prove 
My  passion  to  remove ; 
Physic  to  other  ills,  thou  'rt  nourishment  to  love. 

Sleep,  sleep  again,  my  Lyre! 
For  thou  canst  never  tell  my  humble  tale 
In  sounds  that  will  prevail, 
Nor  gentle  thoughts  in  her  inspire ; 
All  thy  vain  mirth  lay  by, 
Bid  thy  strings  silent  He, 
Sleep,  sleep  again,  my  Lyre,  and  let  thy  master  die. 

A.  Cowley 


■  ? 


cni 
THE    MANLY    HEART 

SHALL   I,  wasting  in  despair. 
Die  because  a  woman  's  fair? 
Or  my  cheeks  make  pale  with  care 
'Cause  another's  rosy  are? 
Be  she  fairer  than  the  day 
Or  the  flowery  meads  in  ]\Iay  — 
If  she  be  not  so  to  me 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be? 

Shall  my  foolish  heart  be  pined 
'Cause  I  see  a  woman  kind ; 
Or  a  well  disposed  nature 
Joined  with  a  lovely  feature? 
Be  she  meeker,  kinder,  than 
Turtle-dove  or  pelican. 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me 
What  care  I  how  kind  she  be? 
100 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Shall  a  woman's  virtues  move 
Me  to  perish  for  her  love? 
Of  her  merits'  value  known 
Make  me  quite  forget  mine  own? 
Be  she  with  that  goodness  blest 
Which  may  gain  her  name  of  Best; 
If  she  seem  not  such  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  good  she  be? 

'Cause  her  fortune  seems  too  high, 

Shall  I  play  the  fool  and  die? 

Those  that  bear  a  noble  mind 

Where  they  want  of  riches  find, 

Think  what  with  them  they  would  do 

Who  without  them  dare  to  woo  ; 
And  unless  that  mind  I  see, 
What  care  I  how  great  she  be? 

Great  or  good,  or  kind  or  fair, 

I  will  ne'er  the  more  despair; 

If  she  love  me,  this  believe, 

I  will  die  ere  she  shall  grieve ; 

If  she  slight  me  when  I  woo, 

I  can  scorn  and  let  her  go ; 
For  if  she  be  not  for  me, 
What  care  I  for  whom  she  be? 

G.  WiTHEE 


CIV 

MELANCHOLY 

HENCE,  all  you  vain  delights, 
As  short  as  are  the  nights, 
Wherein   you   spend  your   folly: 
There 's   nought   in   this   life   sweet 
101 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

If  man  were  wise  to  see  't, 

But   only   melancholy, 

O  sweetest  Melancholy! 
Welcome,  folded  arms,  and  fixed  eyes, 
A  sigh  that  piercing  mortifies, 
A  look  that 's  fasten'd  to  the  ground, 
A  tongue  chain'd  up  without  a  sound  1 
Fountain  heads  and  pathless  groves, 
Places  which  pale  passion  loves ! 
Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 
Are  warmly  housed  save  bats  and  owls ! 
A  midnight  bell,  a  parting  groan ! 
These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon ; 
Then  stretch  our  bones  in  a  still  gloomy  valley ; 
Nothing  's  so  dainty  sweet  as  lovely  melancholy. 

J.  Fl/ETCHEE 

cv 
TO    A    LOCK    OF    HAIR 

THY  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright 
As  in  that  well-remember'd  night 
When  first  thy  mystic  braid  was  wove, 
And  first  my  Agnes  whisper'd  love. 

Since  then  how  often  hast  thou  prest 
The  torrid  zone  of  tliis  wild  breast. 
Whose  wrath  and  hate  have  sworn  to  dwell 
With  the  first  sin  that  peopled  hell ; 
A  breast  whose  blood  's  a  troubled  ocean, 
Each  throb  the  earthquake's  wild  commotion ! 
O  if  such  clime  thou  canst  endure 
Yet  keep  thy  hue  unstain'd  and  pure. 
What  conquest  o'er  each  erring  thought 
Of  that  fierce  realm  had  Agnes  wrought! 

102 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

I  had  not  wander'd  far  and  wide 

With  such  an  angel  for  my  guide ; 

Nor  heaven  nor  earth  could  then  reprove  me 

If  she  had  lived  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Not  then  this  world's  wild  joys  had  been 

To  me  one  savage  hunting  scene, 

My  sole  delight  the  headlong  race 

And  frantic  hurry  of  the  chase ; 

To  start,  pursue,  and  bring  to  bay, 

Rush  in,  drag  down,  and  rend  my  prey, 

Then  —  from  the  carcass  turn  away ! 

Mine  ireful  mood  had  sweetness  tamed, 

And  soothed  each  wound  which  pride  inflamed :  — 

Yes,  God  and  man  might  now  approve  me 

If  thou  hadst  Hved  and  lived  to  love  me ! 

SiE  W.  Scott 


cvi 
' "     FORSAKEN 


OWALY  waly  up  the  bank. 
And  waly  waly  down  the  brae, 
And  waly  waly  yon  bum-side 

Where  I  and  my  Love  wont  to  gae! 
I  leant  my  back  unto  an  aik, 

I  thought  it  was  a  trusty  tree; 
But  first  it  bow'd,  and  syne  it  brak, 
Sae  my  true  Love  did  lichtly  me. 

O  waly  waly,  but  love  be  bonny 
A  little  time  while  it  is  new; 

But  when  't  is  auld,  it  waxeth  cauld 
And  fades  awa'  like  morning  dew. 
103 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

O  wherefore  should  I  busk  my  head? 

Or  wherefore  should  I  kame  my  hair? 
For  my  true  Love  has  me  forsook, 

And  says  he  '11  never  loe  me  mair. 

Now  Arthur-seat  sail  be  my  bed; 

The  sheets  shall  ne'er  be  prest  by  me : 
Saint  Anton's  well  sail  be  my  drink, 

Since  my  true  Love  has  forsaken  me. 
Marti'mas  wind,  when  wilt  thou  blaw 

And  shake  the  green  leaves  aff  the  tree? 

0  gentle  Death,  when  wilt  thou  come? 
For  of  my  life  I  am  wearie. 

'T  is  not  the  frost,  that  freezes  fell, 

Nor  blawing  snaw's  inclemencie ; 
'T  is  not  sic  cauld  that  makes  me  cry. 

But  my  Love's  heart  grown  cauld  to  me. 
When  we  came  in  by  Glasgow  town 

We  were  a  comely  sight  to  see ; 
My  Love  was  clad  in  the  black  velvet, 

And  I  mysell  in  cramasie. 

But  had  I  wist,  before  I  kist. 

That  love  had  been  sae  ill  to  win ; 

1  had  lockt  my  heart  in  a  case  of  gowd 

And  pinn'd  it  with  a  siller  pin. 
And,  O !  if  my  young  babe  were  born, 

And  set  upon  the  nurse's  knee. 
And  I  mysell  were  dead  and  gane, 

And  the  green  grass  growing  over  mc ! 

Anon. 


104 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


cvn 

FAIR    HELEN 

T  WISH  I  were  where  Helen  lies ; 
■■■     Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 
O  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea ! 

Curst  be  the  heart  that  thought  the  thought, 
And  curst  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot, 
When  in  my  arms  burd  Helen  dropt, 
And  died  to  succour  me! 

0  think  na  but  my  heart  was  sair 

When  my  Love  dropt  down  and  spak  nae  mair! 

1  laid  her  down  wi'  meikle  care 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

As  I  went  down  the  water-side, 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide, 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide. 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea ; 

I  lighted  down  my  sword  to  draw, 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma', 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma', 

For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

0  Helen  fair,  beyond  compare ! 

1  '11  make  a  garland  of  thy  hair 
Shall  bind  my  heart  for  evermair 

Until  the  day  I  die. 
105 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

O  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies ! 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 
Out  of  my  bed  she  bids  me  rise, 

Says,  '  Haste  and  come  to  me ! ' 

0  Helen  fair !    O  Helen  chaste ! 
If  I  were  with  thee,  I  were  blest, 
Where  thou  lies  low  and  takes  thy  rest 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

1  wish  my  grave  were  growing  green, 
A  winding-sheet  drawn  ower  my  een, 
And  I  in  Helen's  arms  lying, 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  Hes ; 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries; 
And  I  am  weary  of  the  skies, 

Since  my  Love  died  for  me. 

Anox. 


cvm 
THE    TWA   CORBIES 

AS    I  was  walking  all  alane 
I  heard  twa  corbies  making  a  mane ; 
The  tane  unto  the  t'other  say, 
'  Where  sail  we  gang  and  dine  to-day  ? 

'  —  In  behint  yon  auld  fail  dyke 
I  wot  there  lies  a  new-slain  Knight ; 
And  naebody  kens  that  he  lies  there. 
But  his  hawk,  his  hound,  and  lady  fair. 
106 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

*  His  hound  is  to  the  hunting  gane, 
His  hawk  to  fetch  the  wild-fowl  hame, 
His  lady  's  ta'en  another  mate, 

So  we  may  mak  our  dinner  sweet. 

'  Ye  '11  sit  on  his  white  hause-bane, 
And  I  '11  pick  out  his  bonnie  blue  een : 
Wi'  ae  lock  o'  his  gowden  hair 
We  '11  theek  our  nest  when  it  grows  bare. 

*  Mony  a  one  for  him  makes  mane, 
But  nane  sail  ken  where  he  is  gane ; 
O'er  his  white  banes,  when  they  are  bare, 
The  wind  sail  blaw  for  evermair.' 

Anon. 


cix 


TO    BLOSSOMS 

FAIR  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree. 
Why  do  ye  fall  so  fast? 
Your  date  is  not  so  past. 
But  you  may  stay  yet  here  awhile 
To  blush  and  gently  smile, 
And  go  at  last. 

What,  were  ye  bom  to  be 

An  hour  or  half's  delight. 
And  so  to  bid  good-night? 
'T  was  pity  Nature  brought  ye  forth 
Merely  to  show  your  worth. 
And  lose  you  quite. 
107 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

But  3'ou  are  lovely  leaves,  where  we 
May  read  how  soon  things  have 
Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave : 
And  after  they  have  shown  their  pride 
Like  you,  awhile,  they  glide 
Into  the  grave. 

R.  Heerick 


ex 
TO    DAFFODILS 

FAIR  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 
You  haste  away  so  soon: 
As  yet  the  earlj^-rising  Sun 

Has  not  attain'd  his  noon. 

Stay,  stay. 
Until  the  hasting  day 

Has  run 
But  to  the  even-song; 
And,  having  pray'd  together,  we 
Will  go  with  you  along. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay,  as  you, 

We  have  as  short  a  Spring ! 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay 
As  you,  or  any  thing. 

We  die. 
As  your  hours  do,  and  dry 

Away 
Like  to  the  Summer's  rain ; 
Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning's  dew 
Ne'er  to  be  found  again. 

R.  Herrick 
108 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

CXI 

THOUGHTS    IN    A    GARDEN 

HOW  vainly  men  themselves  amaze 
To  win  the  palm,  the  oak,  or  bays. 
And  their  incessant  labours  see 
Crown'd  from  some  single  herb  or  tree. 
Whose  short  and  narrow-verged  shade 
Does  prudently  their  toils  upbraid ; 
While  all  the  flowers  and  trees  do  close 
To  weave  the  garlands  of  Repose. 

Fair  Quiet,  have  I  found  thee  here. 
And  Innocence  thy  sister  dear? 
Mistaken  long,  I  sought  you  then 
In  busy  companies  of  men : 
Your  sacred  plants,  if  here  below. 
Only  among  the  plants  will  grow : 
Society  is  all  but  rude 
To  this  delicious  solitude. 

No  white  nor  red  was  ever  seen 
So  amorous  as  this  lovely  green. 
Fond  lovers,  cruel  as  their  flame. 
Cut  in  these  trees  their  mistress'  name: 
Little,  alas,  they  know  or  heed 
How  far  these  beauties  her  exceed ! 
Fair  trees  !  where'er  your  barks  I  wound. 
No  name  shall  but  your  own  be  found. 

WTien  we  have  run  our  passions'  heat 
Love  hither  makes  his  best  retreat: 
The  gods,  who  mortal  beauty  chase, 
Still  in  a  tree  did  end  their  race ; 
109 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Apollo  hunted  Daphne  so 
Only  that  she  might  laurel  grow ; 
And  Pan  did  after  Syrinx  speed 
Not  as  a  nymph,  but  for  a  reed. 

What  wondrous  life  is  this  I  lead! 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head ; 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crush  their  wine; 
The  nectarine  and  curious  peach 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  reach; 
Stumbling  on  melons,  as  I  pass. 
Ensnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grass. 

Meanwhile  the  mind  from  pleasure  less 

Withdraws  into  its  happiness ; 

The  mind,  that  ocean  where  each  kind 

Does  straight  its  own  resemblance  find; 

Yet  it  creates,  transcending  these, 

Far  other  worlds,  and  other  seas ; 

Annihilating  all  that  's  made 

To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot 
Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root. 
Casting  the  body's  vest  aside 
My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide ; 
There,  like  a  bird,  it  sits  and  sings, 
Then  whets  and  claps  its  silver  wings, 
And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight. 
Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

Such  was  that  happy  Garden-state 
While  man  there  walk'd  without  a  mate : 
After  a  place  so  pure  and  sweet, 
What  other  help  could  yet  be  meet ! 
110 


No  white  nor  red  was  ever  seen. 
So  amorous  as  this  lovely  green. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot 
Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root, 
Casting  the  body's  vest  aside 
My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide. 


,ni>3a  1379  diiv/  bi»i  loii  sjirfw  oVr 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

But  't  was  beyond  a  mortal's  share 
To  wander  solitary  there: 
Two  paradises  't  were  in  one, 
To  live  in  Paradise  alone. 

How  well  the  skilful  gardener  drew 
Of  flowers  and  herbs  this  dial  new ! 
Where,  from  above,  the  milder  sun 
Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run: 
And,  as  it  works,  th'  industrious  bee 
Computes  its  time  as  well  as  we. 
How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckon'd,  but  with  herbs  and  flowers ! 

A.  Marvell 


cxn 


L'ALLEGRO 

TTENCE,  loathed  Melancholy, 

-*--•■      Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  Midnight  bom 

In  Stygian  cave  forlorn 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and  sights  unholy ! 
Find  out  some  uncouth  cell 

Where  brooding  Darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings 
And  the  night-raven  sings ; 

There  under  ebon  shades,  and  low-brow'd  rocks 
As  ragged  as  thy  locks, 

In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 

But  come,  thou  goddess  fair  and  free, 
In  heaven  yclept  Euphrosyne, 
And  by  men,  heart-easing  Mirth, 
Whom  lovely  Venus  at  a  birth 

111 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

With  two  sister  Graces  more 

To   ivy-crovmed   Bacchus  bore; 

Or  whether  (as  some  sager  sing) 

The  frohc  wind  that  breathes  the  spring 

Zephyr,  with  Aurora  playing, 

As  he  met  her  once  a-Maying  — 

There  on  beds  of  violets  blue 

And  fresh-blown  roses  wash'd  in  dew 

Fill'd  her  with  thee,  a  daughter  fair, 

So  buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair. 

Haste  thee.  Nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest,  and  youthful  jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek. 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek ; 
Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides. 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides :  — 
Come,  and  trip  it  as  you  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe; 
And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 
The  mountain-nymph,  sweet  Liberty; 
And  if  I  give  thee  honour  due 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew. 
To  hve  with  her,  and  live  with  thee 
In  unreproved  pleasures  free ; 
To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  night 
From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise ; 
Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow. 
And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow 
Through  the  sweetbriar,  or  the  vine, 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine : 
While  the  cock  with  lively  din 

112 


SONGS     AND    LYRICS 

Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin, 
And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn-door, 
Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before: 
Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill. 
Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill ; 
Sometime  walking,  not  unseen, 
By  hedge-row  elms,  on  hillocks  green. 
Right  against  the  eastern  gate 
Where  the  great  Sun  begins  his  state 
Robed  in  flames  and  amber  light. 
The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight ; 
While  the  ploughman,  near  at  hand. 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrow'd  land. 
And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 
And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe. 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures 
Whilst  the  landscape  round  it  measures ; 
Russet  lawns,  and  fallows  gray. 
Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray ; 
Mountains,  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  labouring  clouds  do  often  rest ; 
Meadows  trim  with  daisies  pied. 
Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide; 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosom'd  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where  perhaps  some  Beauty  lies. 
The  Cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes. 

Hard  by,  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks. 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis,  met. 
Are  at  their  savoury  dinner  set 

113 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Of  herbs,  and  other  country  messes 
Which  the  neat-handed  PhilHs  dresses; 
And  then  in  haste  her  bower  she  leaves 
With  ThestjHs  to  bind  the  sheaves; 
Or,  if  the  earlier  season  lead. 
To  the  tann'd  haycock  in  the  mead. 

Sometimes  with  secure  delight 
The  upland  hamlets  will  invite, 
When  the  merry  bells  ring  round. 
And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound 
To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid. 
Dancing  in  the  chequer'd  shade ; 
And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  a  sun-shine  holy-day, 
Till  the  live-long  day-light  fail:  i^ 
Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale. 
With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat, 
How  faery  Mab  the  junkets  eat:  — 
She  was  pinch'd,  and  pull'd,  she  said; 
And  he,  by  friar's  lantern  led; 
Tells  how  the  drudging  Goblin  sweat 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  hath  thresh'd  the  corn 
That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end ; 
Then  lies  him  down  the  lubber  fiend. 
And,  stretch'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength ; 
And  crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings, 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 

Thus  done  the  tales,  to  bed  they  creep,     ' 
By  whispering  winds  soon  lull'd  asleep. 

Tower'd  cities  please  us  then 
And  the  busy  hum  of  men, 
Where  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  bold, 

114 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

In  weeds  of  peace,  high  triumphs  hold, 
With  store  of  ladies,  whose  bright  eyes 
Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prize 
Of  wit  or  arms,  while  both  contend 
To  win  her  grace,  whom  all  commend. 
There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 
In  saffron  robe,  with  taper  clear, 
And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 
With  mask,  and  antique  pageantry  ; 
Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream. 
Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on. 
Or  sweetest  Shakespeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

And  ever  against  eating  cares 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs 
Married  to  immortal  verse, 
Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce 
In  notes,  with  many  a  winding  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out. 
With  wanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning. 
The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running, 
Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony ; 
That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 
From  golden  slumber,  on  a  bed 
Of  heap'd  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 
Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 
Of  Pluto,  to  have  quite  set  free 
His  half-regain'd  Eurydice. 

These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 

J.  Milton 

115 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

cxm 
IL    PENSEROSO 

HENCE,  vain  deluding  Joys, 
The  brood  of  Folly  without  father  bred! 
How  little  you  bestead 

Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys ! 
Dwell  in  some  idle  brain, 

And  fancies  fond  with  gaudy  shapes  possess 
As  thick  and  numberless 

As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sunbeams, 
Or  likest  hovering  dreams, 

The  fickle  pensioners  of  Morpheus'  train. 

But  hail,  thou  goddess  sage  and  holy. 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy ! 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  Wisdom's  hue ; 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem 
Prince  Memnon's  sister  might  beseem. 
Or  that  starr'd  Ethiop  queen  that  strove 
To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above 
The  sea-nymphs,  and  their  powers  offended : 
Yet  thou  art  higher  far  descended : 
Thee  bright-hair'd  Vesta,  long  of  yore, 
To  solitary  Saturn  bore; 
His  daughter  she;    in  Saturn's  reign 
Such  mixture  was  not  held  a  stain : 
Oft  in  glimmering  bowers  and  glades 
He  met  her,  and  in  secret  shades 
Of  woody  Ida's  inmost  grove. 
While  yet  there  was  no  fear  of  Jove. 

116 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Come,  pensive  Nun,  devout  and  pure. 
Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure, 
All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain 
Flowing  with  majestic  train, 
And  sable  stole  of  cypres  lawn 
Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn: 
Come,  but  keep  thy  wonted  state, 
With  even  step,  and  musing  gait, 
And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 
Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes: 
There,  held  in  holy  parssion  still, 
Forget  thyself  to  mable,  till 
With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast 
Thou  fix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast: 
And  join  with  thee  calm  Peace,  and  Quiet, 
Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet, 
And  hears  the  Muses  in  a  ring 
Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing: 
And  add  to  these  retired  Leisure 
That  in  trim  gardens  takes  his  pleasure :  — ■ 
But  first  and  chiefest,  with  thee  bring 
Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing 
Guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne, 
The  cherub  Contemplation; 
And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along, 
'Less  Philomel  will  deign  a  song 
In  her  sweetest  saddest  plight 
Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  Night, 
While  Cynthia  checks  her  dragon  yoke 
Gently  o'er  the  accustom'd  oak. 
—  Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of  folly 
Most  musical,  most  melancholy ! 
Thee,  chauntress,  oft,  the  woods  among 
I  woo,  to  hear  thy  even-song; 
And  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 

117 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY, 

On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  green, 
To  behold  the  wandering  Moon 
Riding  near  her  highest  noon. 
Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 
Through  the  heaven's  wide  pathless  way, 
And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd. 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 

Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground 
I  hear  the  far-off  curfeu  sound 
Over  some  wide-water'd  shore, 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar: 
Or,  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 
Some  still  removed  place  will  fit, 
Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 
Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom; 
Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth. 
Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 
Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm 
To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm. 

Or  let  my  lamp  at  midnight  hour 
Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower. 
Where  I  may  oft  out-watch  the  Bear 
With  thrice-great  Hermes,  or  unsphere 
The  spirit  of  Plato,  to  unfold 
What  worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold 
The  immortal  mind,  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook: 
And  of  those  demons  that  are  found 
In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  under  ground. 
Whose  power  hath  a  true  consent 
With  planet,  or  with  element. 
Sometime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  scepter'd  pall  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine ; 

118 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Or  what  (though  rare)  of  later  age 
Ennobled  hath  the  buskin'd  stage. 

But,  O  sad  Virgin,  that  thy  power, 
Might  raise  Musaeus  from  his  bower, 
Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing 
Such  notes  as,  warbled  to  the  string, 
Drew  iron  tears  down  Pluto's  cheek 
And  made  Hell  grant  what  Love  did  seek ! 
Or  call  up  him  that  left  half-told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold. 
Of  Camball,  and  of  Algarsife, 
And  who  had  Canace  to  wife 
That  own'd  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass ; 
And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass 
On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride: 
And  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside 
In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung 
Of  turneys,  and  of  trophies  hung, 
Of  forests,  and  enchantments  drear. 
Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear. 

Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career, 
Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear. 
Not  trick'd  and  frounced  as  she  was  wont 
With  the  Attic  Boy  to  hunt, 
But  kercheft  in  a  comely  cloud 
While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 
Or  usher'd  with  a  shower  still. 
When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill. 
Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves 
With  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves. 
And  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 
His  flaring  beams,  me,  goddess,  bring 
To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves, 
And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves. 
Of  pine,  or  monumental  oak, 

119 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Where  the  rude  axe,  with  heaved  stroke, 

Was  never  heard  the  nymphs  to  daunt 

Or  fright  them  from  their  hallow'd  haunt. 

There  in  close  covert  by  some  brook 

Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look. 

Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye, 

While  the  bee  with  honey'd  thigh 

That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing. 

And  the  waters  murmuring, 

With  such  consort  as  they  keep 

Entice  the  dewy-feather'd  Sleep ; 

And  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 

Wave  at  his  wings  in  aery  stream 

Of  lively  portraiture  display'd. 

Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid: 

And,  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 

Above,  about,  or  underneath, 

Sent  by  some  spirit  to  mortals  good, 

Or  the  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 
To  walk  the  studious  cloister's  pale 
And  love  the  high-embowed  roof, 
With  antique  pillars  massy  proof 
And  storied  windows  richly  dight 
Casting  a  dim  religious  hght : 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below 
In  service  high  and  anthems  clear. 
As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear, 
Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies. 
And  bring  all  Heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage. 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 

120 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  shew, 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew ; 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain. 

These  pleasures,  Melancholy,  give, 
And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  live. 

J.  Milton 


cxiv 
SONG    OF    THE    EMIGRANTS    IN   BERMUDA 

WHERE  the  remote  Bermudas  ride 
In  the  ocean's  bosom  unespied, 
From  a  small  boat  that  row'd  along 
The  listening  winds  received  this  song. 

'  What  should  we  do  but  sing  His  praise 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze 
Where  He  the  huge  sea-monsters  wracks, 
That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs. 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown. 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own.'* 
He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage, 
Safe  from  the  storms,  and  prelate's  rage : 
He  gave  us   this  eternal  spring 
Which  here  enamels  everything, 
And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care 
On  daily  visits  through  the  air. 
He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night. 
And  does  in  the  pomegranates  close 
Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormus  shows : 
He  makes  the  figs  our  mouths  to  meet 
And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet ; 
But  apples  plants  of  such  a  price, 

121 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

No  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice. 
With  cedars  chosen  by  his  hand 
From  Lebanon  he  stores  the  land ; 
And  makes  the  hollow  seas  that  roar 
Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore. 
He  cast  (of  which  we  rather  boast) 
The  Gospel's  pearl  upon  our  coast ; 
And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame 
A  temple  where  to  sound  His  name. 
Oh !  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt 
Till  it  arrive  at  Heaven's  vault, 
Which  then  perhaps  rebounding  may 
Echo  beyond  the  Mexique  bay  ! ' 
—  Thus  sung  they  in  the  English  boat 
A  holy  and  a  cheerful  note: 
And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime, 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

A.  Marvell 


cxv 
AT    A    SOLEMN    MUSIC 

BLEST  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  Heaven's  joy 
Sphere-born  harmonious  Sisters,  Voice  and  Verse ! 
Wed  your  divine  sounds,  and  mixt  power  employ. 

Dead  things  with  inbreathed  sense  able  to  pierce ; 
And  to  our  high-raised  phantasy  present 
That  undisturbed  Song  of  pure  concent 
Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-colour'd  throne 

To  Him  that  sits  thereon, 
With  saintly  shout  and  solemn  jubilee; 
Where  the  bright  Seraphim  in  burning  row 
Their  loud  uplifted  angel-trumpets  blow ; 

122 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

And  the  Cherubic  host  in  thousand  quires 
Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires, 
With  those  just  Spirits  that  wear  victorious  palms, 

Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms 

Singing  everlastingly : 
That  we  on  earth,  with  undiscording  voice 
May  rightly  answer  that  melodious  noise ; 
As  once  we  did,  till  disproportion'd  sin 
Jarr'd  against  nature's  chime,  and  with  harsh  din 
Broke  the  fair  music  that  all  creatures  made 
To  their  great  Lord,  whose  love  their  emotions  sway'd 
In  perfect  diapason,  whilst  they  stood 
In  first  obedience,  and  their  state  of  good. 
O  may  we  soon  again  renew  that  Song, 
And  keep  in  tune  with  Heaven,  till  God  ere  long 
To  his  celestial  consort  us  unite. 
To  live  with  him,  and  sing  in  endless  mom  of  light ! 

J.  Milton 


cxvi 

ALEXANDER'S    FEAST,    OR,    THE    POWER 

OF    MUSIC 

T  I  "^  WAS  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 

-■-    By  Philip's  warlike  son  — 
Aloft  in  awful  state 
The  godlike  hero  sate 
On  his  imperial  throne; 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around. 
Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound, 
(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crown'd)  ; 
The  lovely  Thais  by  his  side 
Sate  like  a  blooming  eastern  bride 
In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride:  — 

123 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Happy,  happy,  happy  pair ! 

None  but  the  brave 

None  but  the  brave 

None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair ! 

Timotheus  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire 
With  flying  fingers  touch'd  the  lyre: 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky 
And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove 
Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above  — 
Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  love! 
A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god ; 
Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode 
When  he  to  fair  Olympia  prest, 
And  while  he  sought  her  snowy  breast, 
Then  round  her  slender  waist  he  curl'd, 
And  stamp'd  an  image  of  himself,  a  sovereign  of  the 

world. 
—  The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound ! 
A  present  deity !  they  shout  around : 
A  present  deity !  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound ! 
With  ravish'd  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 
Assumes  the  god; 
Affects  to  nod 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 

The  praise  of  Bacchus  then  the  sweet  musician  sung, 

Of  Bacchus  ever  fair  and  ever  young: 

The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes! 

Sound  the  trumpets,  beat  the  drums ! 

Flush'd  with  a  purple  grace 

He  shows  his  honest  face: 

124 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Now  give  the  hautboys  breath ;  he  comes,  he  comes ! 

Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young, 

Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain; 

Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure. 

Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure: 

Rich  the  treasure, 

Sweet  the  pleasure, 

Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 

Soothed  with  the  sound,  the  king  grew  vain ; 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again, 
And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew 

the  slain ! 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise, 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes ; 
And  while  he  Heaven  and  Earth  defied 
Changed  his  hand  and  check'd  his  pride. 
He  chose  a  mournful  Muse 
Soft  pity  to  infuse : 
He  sung  Darius  great  and  good, 
By  too  severe  a  fate 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 
Fallen  from  his  high  estate. 
And  weltering  in  his  blood; 
Deserted  at  his  utmost  need 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed ; 
On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes. 
—  With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sate, 
Revolving  in  his  alter'd  soul 
The  various  turns  of  Chance  below; 
And  now  and  then  a  sigh  he  stole. 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

The  mighty  master  smiled  to  see 
That  love  was  in  the  next  degree; 

125 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

'T  was  but  a  kindred-sound  to  move, 

For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love. 

Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  measures 

Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures. 

War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble. 

Honour  but  an  empty  bubble ; 

Never  ending,  still  beginning, 

Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying; 

If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning. 

Think,  O  think,  it  worth  enjoying: 

Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee, 

Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee ! 

—  The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause ; 

So  Love  was  crown'd,  but  Music  won  the  cause. 

The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 

Gazed  on  the  fair 

Who  caused  his  care. 

And  sigh'd  and  look'd,  sigh'd  and  look'd  again : 

Sigh'd  and  look'd,  and  sigh'd  again: 

At  length  with  love  and  wine  at  once  opprest 

The  vanquish'd  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 

Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again : 
A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain ! 
Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder 
And  rouse  him  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder. 
Hark,  hark !  the  horrid  sound 
Has  raised  up  his  head: 
As  awaked  from  the  dead 
And  amazed  he  stares  around. 
Revenge,  revenge,  Timotheus  cries, 
See  the  Furies  arise ! 
See  the  snakes  that  they  rear 
How  they  hiss  in  their  hair. 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  eyes ! 
Behold  a  ghastly  band, 

U6 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Each  a  torch  in  his  hand ! 

Those  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  battle  were  slain 

And  unburied  remain 

Inglorious  on  the  plain : 

Give  the  vengeance  due 

To  the  valiant  crew ! 

Behold  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 

How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes 

And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods. 

—  The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy: 
And  the  King  seized  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to 

destroy ; 
Thais  led  the  way 
To  light  him  to  his  prey. 
And  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy ! 

—  Thus,  long  ago, 
Ere  heaving  bellows  learn'd  to  blow, 
While  organs  yet  were  mute, 
Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute 
And  sounding  lyre 

Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 
At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame ; 
The  sweet  enthusiast  from  her  sacred  store 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds. 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 
With  Nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 

—  Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize 
Or  both  divide  the  crown ; 

He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies ; 
She  drew  an  angel  down ! 

J.  Dryden 


127 


BOOK    THIRD 


cxvn 

ODE    ON     THE    PLEASURE    ARISING    FROM 

VICISSITUDE 

NOW  the  golden  Morn  aloft 
Waves  her  dew-spangled  wing, 
With  vermeil  cheek  and  whisper  soft 

She  woos  the  tardy  Spring: 
Till  April  starts,  and  calls  around 
The  sleeping  fragrance  from  the  ground, 
And  lightly  o'er  the  living  scene 
Scatters  his  freshest,  tenderest  green. 

New-born  flocks,  in  rustic  dance. 

Frisking  ply  their  feeble  feet ; 
Forgetful  of  their  wintry  trance 

The  birds  his  presence  greet: 
But  chief,  the  sky-lark  warbles  high 
His  trembling  thrilling  ecstasy ; 
And  lessening  from  the  dazzled  sight. 
Melts  into  air  and  liquid  light. 

Yesterday  the  sullen  year 

Saw  the  snowy  whirlwind  fly ; 
Mute  was  the  music  of  the  air. 

The  herd  stood  drooping  by 
Their  raptures  now  that  wildly  flow 
No  yesterday  nor  morrow  know ; 
'T  is  Man  alone  that  joy  descries 
With  forward  and  reverted  eyes. 

128 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Smiles  on  past  Misfortune's  brow 

Soft  Reflection's  hand  can  trace, 
And  o'er  the  cheek  of  Sorrow  throw 

A  melancholy  grace; 
While  Hope  prolongs  our  happier  hour, 
Or  deepest  shades,  that  dimly  lour 
And  blacken  round  our  weary  way, 
Gilds  with  a  gleam  of  distant  day. 

Still,  where  rosy  Pleasure  leads, 

See  a  kindred  Grief  pursue ; 
Behind  the  steps  that  Misery  treads 

Approaching   Comfort   view : 
The  hues  of  bliss  more  brightly  glow 
Chastised  by  sabler  tints  of  woe. 
And  blended  form,  with  artful  strife. 
The  strength  and  harmony  of  life. 

See  the  wretch  that  long  has  tost 

On  the  thorny  bed  of  pain. 
At  length  repair  his  vigour  lost 

And  breathe  and  walk  again : 
The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale. 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale. 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies, 
To  him  are  opening  Paradise. 

T.  Gray 

cxvin 
SOLITUDE 

HAPPY  the  man,  whose  wish  and  care 
A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 

In  his  own  ground. 
129 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with  bread, 
Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire ; 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 
In   winter   fire. 

Blest,  who  can  unconcern'dly  find 
Hours,  days,  and  years,  slide  soft  away 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 
Quiet  by  day. 

Sound  sleep  by  night;    study  and  ease 
Together  mix'd,  sweet  recreation, 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please 
With  meditation. 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown ; 
Thus  unlamented  let  me  die; 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 

A.  Pope 


cxix 
THE    BLIND    BOY 

OSAY  what  is  that  thing  call'd  Light, 
Which  I  must  ne'er  enjoy? 
What  are  the  blessings  of  the  sight, 
O  tell  your  poor  blind  boy ! 

You  talk  of  wondrous  things  you  see, 
You  say  the  sun  shines  bright ; 

I  feel  him  warm,  but  how  can  he 
Or  make  it  day  or  night  .'^ 
130 


Happy  the  man  whose  wish  and  care 
A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 

Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 
On  his  own  ground. 


bread, 


iinuoi^  nwo  aid  nO 


^ 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

My  day  or  night  myself  I  make 

Whene'er  I  sleep  or  play ; 
And  could  I  ever  keep  awake 

With  me  't  were  always  day. 

With  heavy  sighs  I  often  hear 
You  mourn  my  hapless  woe  ; 

But  sure  with  patience  I  can  bear 
A  loss  I  ne'er  can  know. 

Then  let  not  what  I  cannot  have 
My  cheer  of  mind  destroy: 

Whilst  thus  I  sing,  I  am  a  king, 
Although  a  poor  blind  boy. 


C.  ClBBER 


cxx 


ON    A    FAVOURITE    CAT,    DROWNED    IN    A 
TUB    OF    GOLD    FISHES 

'rp  WAS  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 

A     Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 
The  azure  flowers  that  blow, 
Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 
Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared: 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard, 
The  velvet  of  her  paws, 
Her  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies. 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes  — 
She  saw,  and  purr'd  applause. 

131 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASUKY 

Still  had  she  gazed,  but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide. 
The  Genii  of  the  stream: 
Their  scaly  armour's  Tyrian  hue 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 
Betray'd  a  golden  gleam. 

The  hapless  Nymph  with  wonder  saw: 

A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw 

With  many  an  ardent  wish 

She  stretch'd,  in  vain,  to  reach  the  prize  — 

What  female  heart  can  gold  despise? 

What  Cat 's  averse  to  fish  ? 

Presumptuous  maid !   with  looks  intent 
Again  she  stretch'd,  again  she  bent, 
Nor  knew  the  gulf  between  — 
Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled  — 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled ; 
She   tumbled  headlong  in ! 

Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood 
She  mew'd  to  every  watery  God 
Some  speedy  aid  to  send:  — 
No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirr'd, 
Nor  cruel  Tom  nor  Susan  heard  — 
A  favourite  has  no  friend! 

From  hence,  ye  Beauties !  undeceived 
Know  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved, 
And  be  with  caution  bold: 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts,  is  lawful  prize, 
Nor  all  that  glisters,  gold! 

T.  Gray 


132 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

CXXI 

TO  CHARLOTTE  PULTENEY 

TIMELY  blossom,  Infant  fair, 
Fondling  of  a  happy  pair, 

Every  morn  and  every  night 

Their  solicitous  delight. 

Sleeping,  waking,  still  at  ease. 

Pleasing,  without  skill  to  please; 

Little  gossip,  blithe  and  hale, 

Tattling  many  a  broken  tale, 

Singing  many  a  tuneless  song, 

Lavish  of  a  heedless  tongue ; 

Simple  maiden,  void  of  art. 

Babbling  out  the  very  heart, 

Yet  abandon'd  to  thy  will. 

Yet  imagining  no  ill, 

Yet  too  innocent  to  blush ; 

Like  the  linnet  in  the  bush 

To  the  mother-linnet's  note 

Moduling  her  slender  throat ; 

Chirping  forth  thy  petty  j  oys, 

Wanton  in  the  change  of  toys. 

Like  the  linnet  green,  in  May 

Flitting  to  each  bloomy  spray ; 

Wearied  then  and  glad  of  rest, 

Like  the  linnet  in  the  nest :  — 

This  thy  present  happy  lot 

This,  in  time  will  be  forgot : 

Other  pleasures,  other  cares. 

Ever-busy  Time  prepares ; 
And  thou  shalt  in  thy  daughter  see, 
This  picture,  once,  resembled  thee. 

A.  Philips 
133 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

CXXII 

RULE,    BRITANNIA 

WHEN  Britain  first  at  Heaven's  command 
Arose  from  out  the  azure  main, 
This  was  the  charter  of  her  land, 

And  guardian  angels  sung  the  strain: 
Rule,  Britannia!     Britannia  rules  the  waves! 
Britons  never  shall  be  slaves. 

The  nations  not  so  blest  as  thee 
Must  in  their  turn  to  tyrants  fall. 

Whilst  thou  shalt  flourish  great  and  free 
The  dread  and  envy  of  them  all. 

Still  more  majestic  shalt  thou  rise. 

More  dreadful  from  each  foreign  stroke; 

As  the  loud  blast  that  tears  the  skies 
Serves  but  to  root  thy  native  oak. 

Thee  haughty  tyrants  ne'er  shall  tame; 

All  their  attempts  to  bend  thee  down 
Will  but  arouse  thy  generous  flame, 

And  work  their  woe  arid  thy  renown. 

To  thee  belongs  the  rural  reign ; 

Thy  cities  shall  with  commerce  shine ; 
All  thine  shall  be  the  subject  main, 

And  every  shore  it  circles  thine ! 

The  Muses,  still  with  Freedom  found. 

Shall  to  thy  happy  coast  repair ; 
Blest  Isle,  with  matchless  beauty  crown'd 
And  manly  hearts  to  guard  the  fair:  — 
Rule,  Britannia !     Britannia  rules  the  waves ! 
Britons  never  shall  be  slaves. 

J.  Thomson 
134 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

cxxm 
THE    BARD 

Pindaric  Ode 

*T)  UIN  seize  thee,  ruthless  King! 
-■-  ^    Confusion  on  thy  banners  wait ! 
Tho'  fanned  by  Conquest's  crimson  wing 

They  mock  the  air  with  idle  state. 
Helm,  nor  hauberk's  twisted  mail 
Nor  e'en  thy  virtues,  tyrant,  shall  avail 
To  save  thy  secret  soul  from  nightly  fears, 
From  Cambria's  curse,  from  Cambria's  tears ! ' 
—  Such  were  the  sounds  that  o'er  the  crested  pride 

Of  the  first  Edward  scatter'd  wild  dismay, 
As  down  the  steep  of  Snowdon's  shaggy  side 

He  wound  with  toilsome  march  his  long  array :  — 
Stout  Glo'ster  stood  aghast  in  speechless  trance ; 
'  To  arms  ! '  cried  Mortimer,  and  couch'd  his  quivering  lance. 

On  a  rock,  whose  haughty  brow 
Frowns  o'er  old  Conway's  foaming  flood. 

Robed  in  the  sable  garb  of  woe 
With  haggard  eyes  the  Poet  stood ; 
(Loose  his  beard  and  hoary  hair 
Stream'd  like  a  meteor  to  the  troubled  air) 
And  with  a  master's  hand  and  prophet's  fire 
Struck  the  deep  sorrows  of  his  lyre : 

'  Hark,  how  each  giant-oak  and  desert-cave 
Sighs  to  the  torrent's  awful  voice  beneath! 
O'er  thee,  O  King !  their  hundred  arms  they  wave 

Revenge  on  thee  in  hoarser  murmurs  breathe ; 
Vocal  no  more,  since  Cambria's  fatal  day. 
To  high-bom  Hocl's  harp,  or  soft  Llewellyn's  lay. 

135 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

*  Cold  is  Cadwallo's  tongue, 

That  hush'd  the  stormy  main: 
Brave  Urien  sleeps  upon  his  craggy  bed: 

Mountains,  ye  mourn  in  vain 

Modred,  whose  magic  song 
Made  huge  Plinlimmon  bow  his  cloud-topt  head. 

On  dreary  Arvon's  shore  they  lie 
Smear'd  with  gore  and  ghastly  pale : 
Far,  far  aloof  the  affrighted  ravens  sail ; 

The  famish'd  eagle  screams,  and  passes  by. 
Dear  lost  companions  of  my  tuneful  art. 

Dear  as  the  light  that  visits  these  sad  eyes. 
Dear  as  the  ruddy  drops  that  warm  my  heart, 

Ye  died  amidst  your  dying  country's  cries  — 
No  more  I  weep  ;  They  do  not  sleep ; 

On  yonder  cliffs,  a  griesly  band, 
I  see  them  sit;    They  linger  yet. 

Avengers  of  their  native  land : 
With  me  in  dreadful  harmony  they  join, 
And  weave  with  bloody  hands  the  tissue  of  thy  line.' 

Weave  the  warp  and  weave  the  woof 

The  winding  sheet  of  Edward's  race: 
Give  ample  room  and  verge  enough 

The  characters  of  hell  to  trace. 
Mark  the  year,  and  mark  the  night. 
When  Severn  shall  re-echo  with  affright 
The  shrieks  of  death  thro'  Berkley's  roof  that  ring, 
Shrieks  of  an  agonizing  king! 

She-wolf  of  France,  with  unrelenting  fangs 
That  tear'st  the  bowels  of  thy  mangled  mate, 

From  thee  be  born,  who  o'er  thy  country  hangs 
The  scourge  of  Heaven !    What  terrors  round  him  wait 
Amazement  in  his  van,  with  Flight  combined, 
And  Sorrow's  faded  form,  and  Solitude  behind. 

136 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

*  Mighty  victor,  mighty  lord, 

Low  on  his  funeral  couch  he  lies ! 
No  pitying  heart,  no  eye,  afford 

A  tear  to  grace  his  obsequies. 
Is  the  sable  warrior  fled? 
Thy  son  is  gone.     He  rests  among  the  dead. 
The  swarm  that  in  thy  noon-tide  beam  were  bom.'* 
—  Gone  to  salute  the  rising  morn. 
Fair  laughs  the  Mom,  and  soft  the  zephyr  blows, 

While  proudly  riding  o'er  the  azure  realm 
In  gallant  trim  the  gilded  Vessel  goes : 

Youth  on  the  prow,  and  Pleasure  at  the  helm : 
Regardless  of  the  sweeping  Whirlwind's  sway, 
That  hush'd  in  grim  repose  expects  his  evening  prey. 

'  Fill  high  the  sparkling  bowl. 
The  rich  repast  prepare; 

Reft  of  a  crown,  he  yet  may  share  the  feast : 
Close  by  the  regal  chair 

Fell  Thirst  and  Famine  scowl 

A  baleful  smile  upon  their  baffled  guest. 
Heard  ye  the  din  of  battle  bray. 

Lance  to  lance,  and  horse  to  horse.'* 

Long  years  of  havock  urge  their  destined  course, 
And  thro'  the  kindred  squadrons  mow  their  way. 

Ye  towers  of  Julius,  liOndon's  lasting  shame, 
With  many  a  foul  and  midnight  murder  fed. 

Revere  his  Consort's  faith,  his  Father's  fame, 
And  spare  the  meek  usurper's  holy  head ! 
Above,  below,  the  rose  of  snow. 

Twined  with  her  blushing  foe,  we  spread: 
The  bristled  boar  in  infant-gore 

Wallows  beneath  the  thorny  shade. 
Now,  brothers,  bending  o'er  the  accursed  loom. 
Stamp  we  our  vengeance  deep,  and  ratify  his  doom. 

137 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

'  Edward,  lo !  to  sudden  fate 

(Weave  we  the  woof;  The  thread  is  spun;) 
Half  of  thy  heart  we  consecrate. 

(The  web  is  wove;  The  work  is  done.) 
—  Stay,  oh  stay !   nor  thus  forlorn 
Leave  me  unbless'd,  unpitied,  here  to  mourn : 
In  yon  bright  track  that  fires  the  western  skies 
They  melt,  they  vanish  from  my  eyes. 
But  O !  what  solemn  scenes  on  Snowdon's  height 

Descending  slow  their  glittering  skirts  unroll.'' 
Visions  of  glory,  spare  my  aching  sight. 
Ye  unborn  ages,  crowd  not  on  my  soul ! 
No  more  our  long-lost  Arthur  we  bewail :  — 
All  hail,  ye  genuine  kings !    Britannia's  issue,  hail ! 

'  Girt  with  many  a  baron  bold 
Sublime  their  starry  fronts  they  rear; 

And  gorgeous  dames,  and  statesmen  old 
In  bearded  majesty,  appear. 
In  the  midst  a  form  divine ! 
Her  eye  proclaims  her  of  the  Briton-Line : 
Her  lion-port,  her  awe-commanding  face 
Attemper'd  sweet  to  virgin-grace. 
What  strings  symphonious  tremble  in  the  air, 

What  strains  of  vocal  transport  round  her  play? 
Hear  from  the  grave,  great  Taliessin,  hear ; 

They  breathe  a  soul  to  animate  thy  clay. 
Bright  Rapture  calls,  and  soaring  as  she  sings, 
Waves  in  the  eye  of  Heaven  her  many-colour'd  wings. 

'The  verse  adorn  again 

Fierce  War,  and  faithful  Love, 
And  Truth  severe,  by  fairy  Fiction  drest. 

In  buskin'd  measures  move 
Pale  Grief,  and  pleasing  Pain, 
With  Horror,  tyrant  of  the  throbbing  breast. 

138 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

A  voice  as  of  the  cherub-choir 

Gales  from  blooming  Eden  bear, 

And  distant  warblings  lessen  on  my  ear 
That  lost  in  long  futurity  expire. 
Fond  impious  man,  think'st  thou  yon  sanguine  cloud 

Raised  by  thy  breath,  has  quench'd  the  orb  of  day? 
To-morrow  he  repairs  the  golden  flood 

And  warms  the  nations  with  redoubled  ray. 
Enough  for  me:   with  joy  I  see 

The  different  doom  our  fates  assign: 
Be  thine  Despair  and  sceptred  Care, 

To  triumph  and  to  die  are  mine.' 
—  He  spoke,  and  headlong  from  the  mountain's  height 
Deep  in  the  roaring  tide  he  plunged  to  endless  night. 

T.  Gray 


CXXIV 

ODE    WRITTEN    IN    MDCCXLVI 

HOW  sleep  the  Brave,  who  sink  to  rest 
By  all  their  Country's  wishes  blest! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold. 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallow'd  mould. 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung. 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung: 
There  Honour  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ; 
And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there ! 

W.  Collins 


139 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 


y' 


s  '^ 


■^ 


cxxv 
LAMENT    FOR    CULLODEN 


^>'  1 1  iHE  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness, 

\ '  ■*■       Nae  j  oy  nor  pleasure  can  she  see ; 

For  e'en  and  morn  she  cries,  Alas ! 
And  aye  the  saut  tear  blins  her  ee: 
Drumossie  moor  —  Drumossie  day  — 
A  waefu'  day  it  was  to  me ! 
For  there  I  lost  my  father  dear. 
My  father  dear,  and  brethren  three. 

Their  winding-sheet  the  bluidy  clay. 
Their  graves  are  growing  green  to  see: 
And  by  them  lies  the  dearest  lad 
That  ever  blest  a  woman's  ee! 
Now  wae  to  thee,  thou  cruel  lord, 
A  bluidy  man  I  trow  thou  be ; 
For  mony  a  heart  thou  hast  made  sair 
^That  ne'er  did  wrang  to  thine  or  thee. 

R.  Burns 


cxxvi 
LAMENT    FOR    FLODDEN 

I'VE  heard  them  lilting  at  our  ewe-milking. 
Lasses  a'  lilting  before  dawn  o'  day ; 
But  now  they  are  moaning  on  ilka  green  loaning  — 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  a'  wede  away. 

At  bughts,  in  the  morning,  nae  blythe  lads  are  scorning, 

Lasses  are  lonely  and  dowie  and  wae ; 
Nae  daffin',  nae  gabbin',  but  sighing  and  sabbing, 

Ilk  ane  lifts  her  leglin  and  hies  her  away. 

140 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

In  har'st,  at  the  shearing,  nae  youths  now  are  jeering, 
Bandsters  are  lyart,  and  runkled,  and  gray ; 

At  fair  or  at  preaching,  nae  wooing,  nae  fleeching  — 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  a'  wede  away. 

At  e'en,  in  the  gloaming,  nae  younkers  are  roaming 
'Bout  stacks  wi'  the  lasses  at  bogle  to  play ; 

But  ilk  ane  sits  drearie,  lamenting  her  dearie  — 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  weded  away. 

Dool  and  wae  for  the  order,  sent  our  lads  to  the  Border ! 

The  English,  for  ance,  by  guile  wan  the  day ; 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest,  that  fought  aye  the  foremost, 

The  prime  of  our  land,  are  cauld  in  the  clay. 

We  '11  hear  nae  mair  lilting  at  the  ewe-milking ; 

Women  and  bairns  are  heartless  and  wae ; 
Sighing  and  moaning  on  ilka  green  loaning  — 

The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  a'  wede  away. 

J.  Elljott 

cxxvn 
THE    BRAES    OF    YARROW 

THY  braes  were  bonny,  Yarrow  stream, 
When  first  on  them  I  met  my  lover ; 
Thy  braes  how  dreary.  Yarrow  stream. 
When  now  thy  waves  his  body  cover! 
For  ever  now,  O  Yarrow  stream ! 
Thou  art  to  me  a  stream  of  sorrow ; 
For  never  on  thy  banks  shall  I 
Behold  my  Love,  the  flower  of  Yarrow. 

He  promised  me  a  milk-white  steed 
To  bear  me  to  his  father's  bowers ; 
He  promised  me  a  little  page 
To  squire  me  to  his  father's  towers; 

141 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

He  promised  me  a  wedding-ring,  — 
The  wedding-day  was  fix'd  to-morrow ;  — 
Now  he  is  wedded  to  his  grave, 
Alas,  his  watery  grave,  in  Yarrow! 

Sweet  were  his  words  when  last  we  met; 
My  passion  I  as  freely  told  him ; 
Clasp'd  in  his  arms,  I  little  thought 
That  I  should  never  more  behold  him ! 
Scarce  was  he  gone,  I  saw  his  ghost ; 
It  vanish'd  with  a  shriek  of  sorrow ; 
Thrice  did  the  water-wraith  ascend. 
And  gave  a  doleful  groan  thro'  Yarrow. 

His  mother  from  the  window  look'd 
With  all  the  longing  of  a  mother ; 
His  little  sister  weeping  walk'd 
The  green-wood  path  to  meet  her  brother ; 
They  sought  him  east,  they  sought  him  west, 
They  sought  him  all  the  forest  thorough ; 
They  only  saw  the  cloud  of  night, 
They  only  heard  the  roar  of  Yarrow. 

No  longer  from  thy  window  look  — 
Thou  hast  no  son,  thou  tender  mother ! 
No  longer  walk,  thou  lovely  maid; 
Alas,  thou  hast  no  more  a  brother! 
No  longer  seek  him  east  or  west 
And  search  no  more  the  forest  thorough ; 
For,  wandering  in  the  night  so  dark. 
He  fell  a  lifeless  corpse  in  Yarrow. 

The  tear  shall  never  leave  my  cheek, 
No  other  youth  shall  be  my  marrow  — 
I  '11  seek  thy  body  in  the  stream. 
And  then  with  thee  I  '11  sleep  in  Yarrow. 

142 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

—  The  tear  did  never  leave  her  cheek, 
No  other  youth  became  her  marrow ; 
She  found  his  body  in  the  stream, 
And  now  with  him  she  sleeps  in  Yarrow, 

J.  Logan 


cxxvm 
WILLY    DROWNED    IN    YARROW 

DOWN  in  yon  garden  sweet  and  gay 
Where  bonnie  grows  the  lily, 
I  heard  a  fair  maid  sighing  say, 
*  My  wish  be  wi'  sweet  Willie ! 

*  Willie  's  rare,  and  Willie  's  fair. 

And  Willie  's  wondrous  bonny ; 
And  Willie  hecht  to  marry  me 
Gin  e'er  he  married  ony. 

'  O  gentle  wind,  that  bloweth  south, 
From  where  my  Love  repaireth. 

Convey  a  kiss  frae  his  dear  mouth 
And  tell  me  how  he  fareth! 

'  O  tell  sweet  Willie  to  come  doun 

And  hear  the  mavis  singing. 
And  see  the  birds  on  ilka  bush 

And  leaves  around  them  hinging. 

*  The  lav'rock  there,  wi'  her  white  breast 

And  gentle  throat  sae  narrow; 
There  's  sport  eneuch  for  gentlemen 
On  Leader  haughs  and  Yarrow. 
143 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

'  O  Leader  haughs  are  wide  and  braid 
And  Yarrow  haughs  are  bonny ; 

There  Willie  hecht  to  marry  me 
If  e'er  he  married  ony. 


*  But  Willie  's  gone,  whom  I  thought  on, 

And  does  not  hear  me  weeping; 
Draws  many  a  tear  frae  true  love's  e'e 
When  other  maids  are  sleeping. 

*  Yestreen  I  made  my  bed  fu'  braid, 

The  night  I  '11  mak'  it  narrow. 
For  a'  the  live-lang  winter  night 
I  lie  twined  o'  my  marrow. 

*0  came  ye  by  yon  water-side.'' 

Pou'd  you  the  rose  or  lily.'' 
Or  came  you  by  yon  meadow  green, 

Or  saw  you  my  sweet  Willie?  ' 

She  sought  him  up,  she  sought  him  down, 
She  sought  him  braid  and  narrow ; 

Syne,  in  the  cleaving  of  a  craig. 

She  found  him  drown'd  in  Yarrow! 

Anon. 


cxxix 
LOSS    OF    THE    ROYAL    GEORGE 

TOLL  for  the  Brave ! 
The  brave  that  are  no  more! 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave 
Fast  by  their  native  shore ! 
144 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Eight  hundred  of  the  brave 
Whose  courage  well  was  tried, 
Had  made  the  vessel  heel 
And  laid  her  on  her  side. 


A  land-breeze  shook  the  shrouds 
And  she  was  overset ; 
Down  went  the  Royal  George, 
With  all  her  crew  complete. 

Toll  for  the  brave ! 
Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone ; 
His  last  sea-fight  is  fought, 
His  work  of  glory  done. 

It  was  not  in  the  battle ; 
No  tempest  gave  the  shock; 
She  sprang  no  fatal  leak, 
She  ran  upon  no  rock. 

His  sword  was  in  its  sheath. 
His  fingers  held  the  pen. 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down 
With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

Weigh  the  vessel  up 
Once  dreaded  by  our  foes ! 
And  mingle  with  our  cup 
The  tears  that  England  owes. 

Her  timbers  yet  are  sound. 
And  she  may  float  again 
Full  charged  with  England's  thunder. 
And  plough  the  distant  main: 
145 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

But  Kempenfelt  is  gone, 
His  victories  are  o'er ; 
And  he  and  his  eight  hundred 
Shall  plough  the  wave  no  more. 

W.   COWPER 


cxxx 
BLACK-EYED    SUSAN 

ALL  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moor'd, 
The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind,    " 
When  black-eyed  Susan  came  aboard ; 

'O!  where  shall  I  my  true-love  find? 
Tell  me,  ye  jovial  sailors,  tell  me  true 
If  my  sweet  William  sails  among  the  crew.' 

William,  who  high  upon  the  yard 

Rock'd  with  the  billow  to  and  fro. 
Soon  as  her  well-known  voice  he  heard 

He  sigh'd,  and  cast  his  eyes  below : 
The  cord  slides  swiftly  through  his  glowing  hands, 
And  quick  as  lightning  on  the  deck  he  stands. 

So  the  sweet  lark,  high  poised  in  air. 

Shuts  close  his  pinions  to  his  breast 
If  chance  his  mate's  shrill  call  he  hear. 

And  drops  at  once  into  her  nest :  — 
The  noblest  captain  in  the  British  fleet 
Might  envy  William's  lip  those  kisses  sweet. 

'  O  Susan,  Susan,  lovely  dear, 
My  vows  shall  ever  true  remain ; 

146 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Let  me  kiss  off  that  falling  tear ; 

We  only  part  to  meet  again. 
Change  as  ye  list,  ye  winds  ;  my  heart  shall  be 
The  faithful  compass  that  still  points  to  thee. 

'  Believe  not  what  the  landmen  say 

Who  tempt  with  doubts  thy  constant  mind : 

They  '11  tell  thee,  sailors,  when  away, 
In  every  port  a  mistress  find : 

Yes,  yes,  believe  them  when  they  tell  thee  so, 

For  Thou  art  present  wheresoe'er  I  go. 

'  If  to  fair  India's  coast  we  sail. 

Thy  eyes  are  seen  in  diamonds  bright. 

Thy  breath  is  Afric's  spicy  gale. 
Thy  skin  is  ivory  so  white. 

Thus  every  beauteous  object  that  I  view 

Wakes  in  my  soul  some  charm  of  lovely  Sue. 

'  Though  battle  call  me  from  thy  arms 

Let  not  my  pretty  Susan  mourn ; 
Though  cannons  roar,  yet  safe  from  harms 

William  shall  to  his  Dear  return. 
Love  turns  aside  the  balls  that  round  me  fly. 
Lest  precious  tears  should  drop  from  Susan's  eye.' 

The  boatswain  gave  the  dreadful  word, 
The  sails  their  swelling  bosom  spread, 

No  longer  must  she  stay  aboard; 

They  kiss'd,  she  sigh'd,  he  hung  his  head. 

Her  lessening  boat  unwilling  rows  to  land ; 

'  Adieu ! '  she  cries ;  and  waved  her  lily  hand. 

J.  Gay 


147 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

CXXXI 

SALLY    IN    OUR    ALLEY 

OF  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart 
There  's  none  like  pretty  Sally ; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
There  is  no  lady  in  the  land 
Is  half  so  sweet  as  Sally ; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 
And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Her  father  he  makes  cabbage-nets 

And  through  the  streets  does  cry  'em ; 
Her  mother  she  sells  laces  long 

To  such  as  please  to  buy  'em : 
But  sure  such  folks  could  ne'er  beget 

So  sweet  a  girl  as  Sally ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

AVhen  she  is  by,  I  leave  my  work, 

I  love  her  so  sincerely ; 
My  master  comes  like  any  Turk, 

And  bangs  me  most  severely  — 
But  let  him  bang  his  bellyfull, 

I  '11  bear  it  all  for  Sally ; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart. 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Of  all  the  days  that 's  in  the  week 

I  dearly  love  but  one  day  — 
And  that 's  the  day  that  comes  betwixt 

A  Saturday  and  Monday ; 
148 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

For  then  I  'm  drest  all  in  my  best 

To  walk  abroad  with  Sally ; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master  carries  me  to  church, 

And  often  am  I  blamed 
Because  I  leave  him  in  the  lurch 

As  soon  as  text  is  named ; 
I  leave  the  church  in  sermon-time 

And  slink  away  to  Sally  ; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

When  Christmas  comes  about  again 

0  then  I  shall  have  money; 
I  '11  hoard  it  up,  and  box  it  all, 

1  '11  give  it  to  my  honey ; 

I  would  it  were  ten  thousand  pound, 

I  'd  give  it  all  to  Sally ; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master  and  the  neighbours  all 

Make  game  of  me  and  Sally, 
And,  but  for  her,  I  'd  better  be 

A  slave  and  row  a  galley ; 
But  when  my  seven  long  years  are  out 

O  then  I  '11  marry  Sally,  — 
O  then  we  '11  wed,  and  then  we  '11  bed. 

But  not  in  our  alley ! 

H.  Caret 


149 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


cxxxn 
A   FAREWELL 

GO  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 
An'  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie; 
That  I  may  drink  before  I  go 

A  service  to  my  bonnie  lassie: 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith, 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  f  rae  the  Ferry, 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-law, 
And  I  maun  leave  my  bonnie  Mary. 

The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly, 

The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready ; 
The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar. 

The  battle  closes  thick  and  bloody ; 
But  it 's  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 

Wad  make  me  langer  wish  to  tarry ; 
Nor  shout  o'  war  that 's  heard  afar  — 

It 's  leaving  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary. 

R.  Burns 


cxxxrn 
IF    DOUGHTY    DEEDS 


IF  doughty  deeds  my  lady  please 
Right  soon  I  '11  mount  my  steed ; 
And  strong  his  arm,  and  fast  his  seat 

That  bears  frae  me  the  meed. 
I  '11  wear  thy  colours  in  my  cap, 

Thy  picture  at  my  heart; 
And  he  that  bends  not  to  thine  eye 
Shall  rue  it  to  his  smart ! 
150 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Then  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee,  Love ; 

O  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee! 
For  thy  dear  sake,  nae  care  I  '11  take, 

Tho'  ne'er  another  trow  me. 

If  gay  attire  delight  thine  eye 

I  '11  dight  me  in  array ; 
I  '11  tend  thy  chamber  door  all  night, 

And  squire  thee  all  the  day. 
If  sweetest  sounds  can  win  thine  ear, 

These  sounds  I  '11  strive  to  catch ; 
Thy  voice  I  '11  steal  to  woo  thysell, 

That  voice  that  nane  can  match. 

But  if  fond  love  thy  heart  can  gain, 

I  never  broke  a  vow; 
Nae  maiden  lays  her  skaith  to  me, 

I  never  loved  but  you. 
For  you  alone  I  ride  the  ring, 

For  you  I  wear  the  blue ; 
For  you  alone  I  strive  to  sing, 
O  tell  me  how  to  woo ! 

Then  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee.  Love ; 

O  tell  me  how  to  woo  thee ! 
For  thy  dear  sake,  nae  care  I  '11  take, 
Tho'  ne'er  another  trow  me. 

R.  Graham  of  Gartmore 


cxxxiv 
TO    A    YOUNG   LADY 

SWEET  stream,  that  winds  through  yonder  glade, 
Apt  emblem  of  a  virtuous  maid  — 
Silent  and  chaste  she  steals  along, 
Far  from  the  world's  gay  busy  throng : 

151 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

With  gentle  yet  prevailing  force, 
Intent  upon  her  destined  course ; 
Graceful  and  useful  all  she  does, 
Blessing  and  blest  where'er  she  goes ; 
Pure-bosom'd  as  that  watery  glass, 
And  Heaven  reflected  in  her  face. 

W.  COWPEB. 


cxxxv 
THE    SLEEPING    BEAUTY 

SLEEP  on,  and  dream  of  Heaven  awhile  — 
The'  shut  so  close  thy  laughing  eyes. 
Thy  rosy  lips  still  wear  a  smile 
And  move,  and  breathe  delicious  sighs ! 

Ah,  now  soft  blushes  tinge  her  cheeks 
And  mantle  o'er  her  neck  of  snow: 
Ah,  now  she  murmurs,  now  she  speaks 
What  most  I  wish  —  and  fear  to  know ! 

She  starts,  she  trembles,  and  she  weeps ! 
Her  fair  hands  folded  on  her  breast: 
—  And  now,  how  Hke  a  saint  she  sleeps ! 
A  seraph  in  the  realms  of  rest! 

Sleep  on  secure !     Above  controul 
Thy  thoughts  belong  to  Heaven  and  thee: 
And  may  the  secret  of  thy  soul 
Remain  within  its  sanctuary! 

S.  ROGEES 


152 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 


CXXXVI 

FOR  ever,  Fortune,  wilt  thou  prove 
An  unrelenting  foe  to  Love, 
And  when  we  meet  a  mutual  heart 
Come  in  between,  and  bid  us  part? 

Bid  us  sigh  on  from  day  to  day, 
And  wish  and  wish  the  soul  away ; 
Till  youth  and  genial  years  are  flown, 
And  all  the  life  of  hfe  is  gone? 

But  busy,  busy,  still  art  thou,  , 

To  bind  the  loveless  joyless  vow. 
The  heart  from  pleasure  to  delude. 
To  join  the  gentle  to  the  rude. 

For  once,  O  Fortune,  hear  my  prayer. 
And  I  absolve  thy  future  care ; 
All  other  blessings  I  resign. 
Make  but  the  dear  Amanda  mine. 

J.  Thomson 


cxxxvn 

r  1 1HE  merchant,  to  secure  his  treasure, 

-^       Conveys  it  in  a  borrow'd  name : 
Euphelia  serves  to  grace  my  measure, 
But  Cloe  is  my  real  flame. 

My  softest  verse,  my  darhng  lyre 
Upon  Euphelia's  toilet  lay  — 

When  Cloe  noted  her  desire 

That  I  should  sing,  that  I  should  play. 
153 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

My  lyre  I  tune,  my  voice  I  raise, 

But  with  my  numbers  mix  my  sighs ; 

And  whilst  I  sing  Euphelia's  praise, 
I  fix  my  soul  on  Cloe's  eyes. 

Fair  Cloe  blush'd :  Euphelia  f rown'd : 

I  sung,  and  gazed ;  I  play'd,  and  trembled : 

And  Venus  to  the  Loves  around 

Remark'd  how  ill  we  all  dissembled. 

M.  Peior 


cxxxvm 

WHEN  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly 
And  finds  too  late  that  men  betray,  — 
What  charm  can  soothe  her  melancholy, 
What  art  can  wash  her  guilt  away.-^ 

The  only  art  her  guilt  to  cover. 
To  hide  her  shame  from  every  eye. 

To  give  repentence  to  her  lover 
And  wring  his  bosom,  is  —  to  die. 

O.  Goldsmith 


cxxxix 

YE  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 
How  can  ye  blume  sae  fair ! 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds. 
And  I  sae  fu'  o'  care! 

Thou  '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonnie  bird 

That  sings  upon  the  bough; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days 

When  my  fause  Luve  was  true. 
154 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Thou  '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonnie  bird 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate ; 
For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang. 

And  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 

Aft  hae  I  roved  by  bonnie  Doon 

To  see  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  love; 

And  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose, 

Frae  aff  its  thorny  tree ; 
And  my  fause  luver  staw  the  rose, 

But  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 

R.  Burns 


CXL 

THE    PROGRESS    OF    POESY 
A  Pindaric  Ode 

AWAKE,  Aeolian  lyre,  awake. 
And  give  to  rapture  all  thy  trembling  strings. 
From  HeUcon's  harmonious  springs 

A  thousand  rills  their  mazy  progress  take: 
The  laughing  flowers  that  round  them  blow 
Drink  life  and  fragrance  as  they  flow. 
Now  the  rich  stream  of  Music  winds  along 
Deep,  majestic,  smooth,  and  strong, 
Through  verdant  vales,  and  Ceres'  golden  reign ; 
Now  rolling  down  the  steep  amain 
Headlong,  impetuous,  see  it  pour: 
The  rocks  and  nodding  groves  re-bellow  to  the  roar. 

155 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

O  Sovereign  of  the  willing  soul, 
Parent  of  sweet  and  solemn-breathing  airs, 
Enchanting  shell !  the  sullen  Cares 

And  frantic  Passions  hear  thy  soft  control. 
On  Thracia's  hills  the  Lord  of  War 
Has  curb'd  the  fury  of  his  car 
And  dropt  his  thirsty  lance  at  thy  command. 
Perching  on  the  sceptred  hand 
Of  Jove,  thy  magic  lulls  the  feather'd  king 
With  ruffled  plumes,  and  flagging  wing: 
Quench'd  in  dark  clouds  of  slumber  lie 
The  terror  of  his  beak,  and  lightnings  of  his  eye. 

Thee  the  voice,  the  dance,  obey 

Temper'd  to  thy  warbled  lay. 

O'er  Idalia's  velvet-green 

The  rosy-crowned  Loves  are  seen 

On  Cytherea's  day. 

With  antic  Sport,  and  blue-eyed  Pleasures, 

Frisking  light  in  frolic  measures ; 

Now  pursuing,  now  retreating. 

Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet: 
To  brisk  notes  in  cadence  beating 

Glance  their  many-twinkling  feet. 
Slow  melting  strains  their  Queen's  approach  declare : 

Where'er  she  turns,  the  Graces  homage  pay : 
With  arms  sublime  that  float  upon  the  air 

In  gliding  state  she  wins  her  easy  way : 
O'er  her  warm  cheek  and  rising  bosom  move 
The  bloom  of  young  Desire  and  purple  light  of  Love. 

Man's  feeble  race  what  ills  await ! 
Labour,  and  Penury,  the  racks  of  Pain, 
Disease,  and  Sorrow's  weeping  train. 

And  Death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  Fate ! 

156 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

The  fond  complaint,  my  song,  disprove, 

And  justify  the  laws  of  Jove. 

Say,  has  he  given  in  vain  the  heavenly  Muse? 

Night,  and  all  her  sickly  dews. 

Her  spectres  wan,  and  birds  of  boding  cry 

He  gives  to  range  the  dreary  sky: 

Till  down  the  eastern  cliffs  afar 

Hyperion's  march  they  spy,  and  glittering  shafts  of  war. 

In  climes  beyond  the  solar  road 
Where  shaggy  forms  o'er  ice-built  mountains  roam, 
The  Muse  has  broke  the  twilight  gloom 

To  cheer  the  shivering  native's  dull  abode. 
And  oft,  beneath  the  odorous  shade 
Of  Chili's  boundless  forests  laid. 
She  deigns  to  hear  the  savage  youth  repeat 
In  loose  numbers  wildly  sweet 
Their  feather-cinctured  chiefs,  and  dusky  loves. 
Her  track,  where'er  the  Goddess  roves. 
Glory  pursue,  and  generous  Shame, 
Th'  unconquerable  Mind,  and  Freedom's  holy  flame. 

Woods,  that  wave  o'er  Delphi's  steep, 
Isles,  that  crown  th'  Aegean  deep, 
Fields  that  cool  Ilissus  laves. 
Or  where  Maender's  amber  waves 
In  lingering  lab'rinths  creep, 
How  do  your  tuneful  echoes  languish, 
Mute,  but  to  the  voice  of  anguish ! 
Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breathed  around ; 
Every  shade  and  hallow'd  fountain 

Murmur'd  deep  a  solemn  sound: 
Till  the  sad  Nine,  in  Greece's  evil  hour 

Left  their  Parnassus  for  the  Latian  plains. 

157 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Alike  they  scorn  the  pomp  of  tyrant  Power, 

And  coward  Vice,  that  revels  in  her  chains. 
When  Latium  had  her  lofty  spirit  lost. 
They  sought,  O  Albion !  next,  thy  sea-encircled  coast 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer-gale 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's  Darling  laid, 
What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  stray'd. 

To  him  the  mighty  Mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face:    the  dauntless  Child 
Stretch'd  forth  his  httle  arms,  and  smiled. 
This  pencil  take  (she  said),  whose  colours  clear 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  year: 
Thine,  too,  these  golden  keys,  immortal  Boy ! 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  Joy ; 
Of  Horror  that,  and  thrilling  Fears, 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  Tears. 

Nor  second  He,  that  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  Ecstasy 
The  secrets  of  the  Abyss  to  spy: 

He  pass'd  the  flaming  bounds  of  Place  and  Time : 
The  living  Throne,  the  sapphire-blaze 
Where  Angels  tremble  while  they  gaze. 
He  saw ;   but  blasted  with  excess  of  light. 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 
Behold  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  Glory  bear 
Two  coursers  of  ethereal  race, 
With  necks  in  thunder  clothed,  and  long-resounding  pace. 

Hark,  his  hands  the  lyre  explore ! 
Bright-eyed  Fancy,  hovering  o'er, 
Scatters  from  her  pictured  urn 
Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn. 

158 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

But  ah !    't  is  heard  no  more  — 
Oh!  Lyre  divine,  what  daring  Spirit 
Wakes  thee  now!     Tho'  he  inherit 
Nor  the  pride,  nor  ample  pinion, 

That  the  Theban  Eagle  bear, 
Sailing  with  supreme  dominion 

Thro'  the  azure  deep  of  air: 
Yet  oft  before  his  infant  eyes  would  run 

Such  forms  as  glitter  in  the  Muse's  ray 
With  orient  hues,  unborrow'd  of  the  sun: 

Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  keep  his  distant  way 
Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vulgar  fate: 
Beneath  the  Good  how  far  —  but  far  above  the  GreaL 

T.  Gray 


CXLI 

THE    PASSIONS 

An  Ode  for  Music 

WHEN  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell, 
Throng'd  around  her  magic  cell 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
Possest  beyond  the  Muse's  painting; 
By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturb'd,  dehghted,  raised,  refined: 
Till  once,  't  is  said,  when   all  were  fired, 
Fill'd  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired. 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatch'd  her  instruments  of  sound, 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 

159 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Each,  for  Madness  ruled  the  hour, 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

First  Fear  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try, 

Amid  the  chords  bewilder'd  laid. 
And  back  recoil'd,  he  knew  not  why, 

E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

Next  Anger  rush'd,  his  eyes  on  fire. 

In  lightnings  own'd  his  secret  stings ; 
In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

With  woeful  measures  wan  Despair, 

Low  sullen  sounds,  his  grief  beguiled; 
A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air, 

'T  was  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  't  was  wild. 

But  thou,  O  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair, 

What  was  thy  delighted  measure? 
Still  it  whisper'd  promised  pleasure 

And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail! 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong; 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale 
She  call'd  on  Echo  still  through  all  the  song; 

And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 

A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close ; 
And  Hope  enchanted  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair ; 

And  longer  had  she  sung :  —  but  with  a  frown 

Revenge  impatient  rose: 
He  threw  his  blood-stain'd  sword  in  thunder  down ; 
And  with  a  withering  look 
The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took 
And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread. 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe ! 

160 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

And  ever  and  anon  he  beat 

The  doubhng  drum  with  furious  heat ; 
And,  though  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between, 

Dejected  Pity  at  his  side 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  appHed, 
Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild  unalter'd  mien, 
While  each  strain'd  ball  of  sight  seem'd  bursting  from 

his  head. 

Thy  numbers.  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fix'd: 

Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state ! 
Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mix'd ; 

And  now  it  courted  Love,  now  raving  call'd  on  Hate. 

With  eyes  up-raised,  as  one  inspired. 
Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired; 
And  from  her  wild  sequester'd  seat, 
In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet, 
Pour'd  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul: 
And  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around 
Bubbling  runnels  join'd  the  sound; 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole, 
Or,  o'er  some  haunted  stream,  with  fond  delay, 
Round  an  holy  calm  diffusing. 
Love  of  peace,  and  lonely  musing, 
In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

But  O !  how  alter'd  was  its  sprightlier  tone 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue. 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung, 

Her  buskins  gemm'd  with  morning  dew. 
Blew  an  inspiring  air,  that  dale  and  thicket  rung. 

The  hunter's  call  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known ! 
The  oak-crown'd  Sisters  and  their  chaste-eyed  Queen, 

Satyrs  and  Sylvan  Boys,  were  seen 

Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green : 

161 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear; 

And  Sport  leapt  up,  and  seized  his  beechen  spear. 

Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial: 

He,  with  viny  crown  advancing. 

First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addrest: 

But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol 

Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best: 

They  would  have  thought  who  heard  the  strain 
They  saw,  in  Tempe's  vale,  her  native  maids 
Amidst  the  festal-sounding  shades 

To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing ; 

While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kiss'd  the  strings. 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round: 
Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound ; 
And  he,  amidst  his  frolic  play. 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay. 

Shook  thousand  odours  from  his  dewy  wings. 

O  Music !    sphere-descended  maid. 
Friend  of  Pleasure,  Wisdom's  aid ! 
Why,  goddess,  why,  to  us  denied, 
Lay'st  thou  thy  ancient  lyre  aside.? 
As  in  that  loved  Athenian  bower 
You  learn'd  an  all-commanding  power, 
Thy  mimic  soul,  O  nymph  endear'd! 
Can  well  recall  what  then  it  heard. 
Where  is  thy  native  simple  heart 
Devote  to  Virtue,  Fancy,  Art.^* 
Arise,  as  in  that  elder  time. 
Warm,  energic,  chaste  sublime ! 
Thy  wonders,  in  that  god-like  age. 
Fill  thy  recording  Sister's  page ;  — 
'T  is  said,  and  I  believe  the  tale, 
Thy  humblest  reed  could  more  prevail, 

162 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Had  more  of  strength,  diviner  rage, 
Than  all  which  charms  this  laggard  age, 
E'en  all  at  once  together  found 
Cecilia's  mingled  world  of  sound:  — 
O  bid  our  vain  endeavours  cease : 
Revive  the  just  designs  of  Greece: 
Return  in  all  thy  simple  state! 
Confirm  the  tales  her  sons  relate ! 

W.  COLLTNS 


CXLH 

ODE    ON    THE    SPRING 

T    O  !   where  the  rosy-bosom'd  Hours, 
■*— ^     Fair  Venus'  train,  appear. 
Disclose  the  long-expecting  flowers 

And  wake  the  purple  year! 
The  Attic  warbler  pours  her  throat 
Responsive  to  the  cuckoo's  note. 
The  untaught  harmony  of  Spring: 
While,  whispering  pleasure  as  they  fly. 
Cool  Zephyrs  thro'  the  clear  blue  sky 

Their  gather'd  fragrance  fling. 

Where'er  the  oak's  thick  branches  stretch 

A  broader,  browner  shade. 
Where'er  the  rude  and  moss-grown  beech 

O'er-canopies  the  glade. 
Beside  some  water's  rushy  brink 
With  me  the  Muse  shall  sit,  and  think 
(At  ease  reclined  in  rustic  state) 
How  vain  the  ardour  of  the  Crowd, 
How  low,  how  little  are  the  Proud, 

How  indigent  the  Great! 
163 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Still  is  the  toiling  hand  of  Care ; 

The  panting  herds  repose: 
Yet  hark,  how  thro'  the  peopled  air 

The  busy  murmur  glows ! 
The  insect  youth  are  on  the  wing, 
Eager  to  taste  the  honied  spring 
And  float  amid  the  liquid  noon : 
Some  lightly  o'er  the  current  skim, 
Some  show  their  gaily-gilded  trim 

Quick-glancing  to  the  sun. 

To  Contemplation's  sober  eye 

Such  is  the  race  of  Man: 
And  they  that  creep,  and  they  that  fly 

Shall  end  where  they  began. 
Alike  the  busy  and  the  gay 
But   flutter   thro'   life's    little   day. 
In  Fortune's  varying  colours  drest: 
Brush'd  by  the  hand  of  rough  Mischance, 
Or  chill'd  by  Age,  their  airy  dance 

They  leave,  in  dust  to  rest. 

Methinks  I  hear  in  accents  low 

The  sportive  kind  reply : 
Poor  moralist!    and  what  art  thou.'* 

A  solitary  fly ! 
Thy  joys  no  glittering  female  meets. 
No  hive  hast  thou  of  hoarded  sweets, 
No  painted  plumage  to  display : 
On  hasty  wings  thy  youth  is  flown ; 
Thy  sun  is  set,  thy  spring  is  gone  — 

We  frolic  while  't  is  May. 

T.  Gray 


164 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

cxLin 
THE    POPLAR    FIELD 

THE  poplars  are  fell'd,  farewell  to  the  shade 
And  the  whispering  sound  of  the  cool  colonnade ; 
The  winds  play  no  longer  and  sing  in  the  leaves, 
Nor  Ouse  on  his  bosom  their  image  receives. 

Twelve  years  have  elapsed  since  I  first  took  a  view 
Of  my  favourite  field,  and  the  bank  where  they  grew : 
And  now  in  the  grass  behold  they  are  laid, 
And  the  tree  is  my  seat  that  once  lent  me  a  shade. 

The  blackbird  has  fled  to  another  retreat 
Where  the  hazels  afford  him  a  screen  from  the  heat ; 
And  the  scene  where  his  melody  charm'd  me  before 
Resounds  with  his  sweet-flowing  ditty  no  more. 

My  fugitive  years  are  all  hasting  away. 
And  I  must  ere  long  lie  as  lowly  as  they, 
With  a  turf  on  my  breast  and  a  stone  at  my  head, 
Ere  another  such  grove  shall  arise  in  its  stead. 

'T  is  a  sight  to  engage  me,  if  anything  can. 
To  muse  on  the  perishing  pleasures  of  man ; 
Short-lived  as  we  are,  our  enjoyments,  I  see. 
Have  a  still  shorter  date ;   and  die  sooner  than  we. 

W.  COWPER 

cxxiv 
TO    A    FIELD-MOUSE 

WEE,  slcekit,  cow'rin',  tim'rous  beastie, 
O  what  a  panic  's  in  thy  breastie ! 
Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hasty, 
Wi'  bickering  brattle ! 

165 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

I  wad  be  laith  to  rin  and  chase  thee 
Wi'  murd'ring  pattle ! 

I  'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 

Has  broken  nature's  social  union, 

An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion 

Which  makes  thee  startle 

At  me,  thy  poor  earth-born  companion, 

An'  fellow-mortal ! 

I  doubt  na,  whyles,  but  thou  may  thieve ; 

What  then?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun  live! 

A  daimen  icker  in  a  thrave 

'S  a  sma'  request: 

I  '11  get  a  blessin'  wi'  the  lave, 

And  never  miss  't ! 

Thy  wee  bit  housie,  too.  In  ruin ! 
Its  silly  wa's  the  win's  are  strewin' ; 
And  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane, 
O'  f oggage  green ! 
And  bleak  December's  winds  ensuin' 
Baith  snell  an'  keen ! 

Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  and  waste 

And  weary  winter  comin'  fast, 

And  cozie  here,  beneath  the  blast. 

Thou  thought  to  dwell. 

Till,  crash !  the  cruel  coulter  past 

Out  thro'  thy  cell. 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  an'  stibble 
Has  cost  thee  mony  a  weary  nibble ! 
Now  thou  's  turn'd  out,  for  a'  thy  trouble, 
But  house  or  hald, 
To  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble 
An'  cranreuch  cauld! 

166 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane 
In  proving  foresight  may  be  vain: 
The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 
Gang  aft  a-gley, 

An'  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  an'  pain, 
For  promised  joy. 

Still  thou  art  blest,  compared  wi'  me ! 

The  present  only  toucheth  thee : 

But,  och !  I  backward  cast  my  e'e 

On  prospects  drear ! 

An'  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  and  fear ! 

,  R.  Burns 

CXLV 

A   WISH 

MINE  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill ; 
A  bee-hive's  hum  shall  soothe  my  ear; 
A  willowy  brook  that  turns  a  mill. 
With  many  a  fall  shall  linger  near. 

The  swallow,  oft,  beneath  my  thatch 
Shall  twitter  from  her  clay-built  nest; 
Oft  shall  the  pilgrim  lift  the  latch. 
And  share  my  meal,  a  welcome  guest. 

Around  my  ivied  porch  shall  spring 
Each  fragrant  flower  that  drinks  the  dew ; 
And  Lucy,  at  her  wheel,  shall  sing 
In  russet-gown  and  apron  blue. 

The  village-church  among  the  trees. 
Where  first  our  marriage-vows  were  given. 
With  merry  peals  shall  swell  the  breeze 
And  point  with  taper  spire  to  Heaven. 

S.  ROGEIIS 

167 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


CXLVI 

TO    EVENING 

F  aught  of  oaten  stop  or  pastoral  song 
May  hope,  chaste  Eve,  to  soothe  thy  modest  ear 
Like  thy  own  solemn  springs, 
Thy  springs,  and  dying  gales ; 


I 


O  Nymph  reserved,  —  while  now  the  bright-hair'd  sun 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent,  whose  cloudy  skirts, 

With  brede  ethereal  wove, 

O'erhang  his  wavy  bed, 

Now  air  is  hush'd,  save  where  the  weak-eyed  bat 
With  short  shrill  shriek  flits  by  on  leathern  wing, 

Or  where  the  beetle  winds 

His  small  but  sullen  horn. 

As  oft  he  rise  midst  the  twilight  path, 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum,  — 

Now  teach  me,  maid  composed. 

To  breathe  some  soften'd  strain 

Whose  numbers,  stealing  through  thy  darkening  vale, 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillness  suit ; 

As,  musing  slow  I  hail 

Thy  genial  loved  return. 

For  when  thy  folding-star  arising  shows 
His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 

The  fragrant  Hours,  and  Elves 

Who  slept  in  buds  the  day, 

168 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

And  many  a  Nymph  who  wreathes  her  brows  with  sedge 
And  sheds  the  freshening  dew,  and,  lovelier  still, 

The  pensive  Pleasures  sweet. 

Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. 

Then  let  me  rove  some  wild  and  heathy  scene ; 
Or  find  some  ruin  midst  its  dreary  dells. 

Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 

By  thy  religious  gleams.  * 

Or,  if  chill  blustering  winds  or  driving  rain 
Prevent  my  willing  feet,  be  mine  the  hut 

That,  from  the  mountain's  side, 

Views  wilds  and  swelling  floods, 

And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim-discover'd  spires  ; 
And  hears  their  simple  bell ;   and  marks  o'er  all 

Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 

The  gradual  dusky  veil. 

While  Spring  shall  pour  his  showers,  as  oft  he  wont, 
And  bathe  thy  breathing  tresses,  meekest  Eve! 

While  Summer  loves  to  sport 

Beneath  thy  lingering  light; 

While  sallow  Autumn  fills  thy  lap  with  leaves; 
Or  Winter,  yelling  through  the  troublous  air, 

Affrights  thy  shrinking  train 

And  rudely  rends  thy  robes; 

So  long,  regardful  of  thy  quiet  rule. 

Shall  Fancy,  Friendship,  Science,  smiling  Peace, 

Thy  gentlest  influence  own. 

And  love  thy  favourite  name ! 

W.  Collins 

169 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 


cxiiVn 

ELEGY    WRITTEN    IN    A    COUNTRY 
CHURCH-YARD 

THE  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds. 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds : 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid. 
The  rude  Forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 
The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed. 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn. 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care : 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

170 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 
Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 
How  j  ocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield ! 
How  bow'd  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 
Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  Poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave 
Awaits  alike  th'  inevitable  hour :  — 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  Proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tombs  no  trophies  raise. 
Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 
Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath? 
Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust. 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold. ear  of  Death.'' 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 
Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 
Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre : 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page. 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
Chill  Penury  repress'd  their  noble  rage. 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

171 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 
The  dark  unfathom'd  caA^es  of  ocean  bear : 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village-Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 
Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command. 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise. 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land. 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes 

Their  lot  forbade :   nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined ; 
Forbad  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne,        , 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame. 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn'd  to  stray; 
Along  the  cool  sequester'd  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenour  of  their  way. 

Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  deck'd, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

172 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unletter'd  Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply: 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resign'd. 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day. 
Nor  cast  one  longing  lingering  look  behind? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies. 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 
E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  th'  unhonour'd  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate ; 
If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led, 
Some  kindred  spirit  shall  enquire  thy  fate,  — 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 
Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 
Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn ; 

There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high. 
His  listless  length  at  noon-tide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn. 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove ; 
Now  drooping,  woeful-wan,  like  one  forlorn. 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  cross'd  in  hopeless  love. 

173 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

One  morn  I  miss'd  him  on  the  custom'd  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favourite  tree ; 
Another  came ;   nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 

The  next  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array 
Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne, 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn. 


THE    EPITAPH 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 
A  youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown ; 
F'air  Science  frown'd  not  on  his  humble  birth 
And  Melancholy  mark'd  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere  ; 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send: 

He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear, 

He  gain'd  from  Heaven,  't  was  all  he  wish'd,  a  friend. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose. 
Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

T.  Gray 

cxLvm 
MARY    MORISON 

OMARY,  at  thy  window  be. 
It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted  hour ! 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see 
That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor : 
174 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

How  blythely  wad  I  bide  the  stoure, 
A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun, 
Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure, 
The  lovely  Mary  Morison. 

Yestreen  when  to  the  trembling  string 
The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha', 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing,  — 
I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw : 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw. 
And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sigh'd,  and  said  amang  them  a', 
'  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison.' 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace 
Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  dee? 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 
Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie. 
At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown ; 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 
The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison. 

R.  Burns 


CXLIX 

BONNIE    LESLEY 

OSAW  ye  bonnie  Lesley 
As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border? 
She  's  gane,  like  Alexander, 

To  spread  her  conquests  farther. 

To  see  her  is  to  love  her. 
And  love  but  her  for  ever ; 

For  nature  made  her  what  she  is, 
And  ne'er  made  sic  anither ! 
175 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Thou  art  a  queen,  fair  Lesley, 
Thy  subjects  we,  before  thee; 

Thou  art  divine,  fair  Lesley, 
The  hearts  o'  men  adore  thee. 

The  deil  he  could  na  scaith  thee. 
Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thee ; 

He  'd  look  into  thy  bonnie  face. 
And  say  '  I  canna  wrang  thee ! ' 

The  Powers  aboon  will  tent  thee 
Misfortune  sha'  na  steer  thee ; 

Thou  'rt  like  themselves  sae  lovely 
That  ill  they  ne'er  let  near  thee. 

Return  again,  fair  Lesley, 

Return  to  Caledonie! 
That  we  may  brag  we  hae  a  lass 

There  's  nane  again  sae  bonnie. 

R.  Burns 


CL 


OMY  Luve  's  Hke  a  red,  red  rose 
That 's  newly  sprung  in  June : 

0  my  Luve  's  like  the  melodie 
That 's  sweetly  play'd  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I : 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry : 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun ; 

1  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear. 

While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run. 
176 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  Luve ! 

And  fare  thee  weel  awhile ! 
And  I  will  come  again,  my  Luve, 

Tho'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 

R.  Burns 


CLI 

HIGHLAND    MARY 

YE  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 
The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers. 

Your  waters  never  drumlie ! 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry; 

For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

How  sweetly  bloom'd  the  gay  green  birk. 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom, 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours  on  angel  wings 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  mony  a  vow  and  lock'd  embrace 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender ; 
And  pledging  aft  to  meet  again. 

We  tore  oursels  asunder; 
But,  O !  fell  Death's  untimely  frost. 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early ! 
Now  green  's  the  sod,  and  cauld  's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary  ! 
177 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

O  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips, 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly ! 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly ; 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly  ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 

R.  Burns 


CLH 

AULD    ROBIN    GRAY 

WHEN  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye  at 
hame, 
And  a'  the  warld  to  rest  are  gane. 
The  waes  o'  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  frae  my  e'e, 
While  my  gudeman  lies  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jamie  lo'ed  me  weel,  and  sought  me  for  his  bride ; 
But  saving  a  croun  he  had  naething  else  beside : 
To  make  the  croun  a  pund,  young  Jamie  gaed  to  sea ; 
And  the  croun  and  the  pund  were  baith  for  me. 

He  hadna  been  awa'  a  week  but  only  twa. 

When  my  father  brak  his  arm,  and  the  cow  was  stown 

awa'; 
My  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  my  Jamie  at  the  sea  — 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  came  a-courtin'  me. 

My  father  couldna  work,  and  my  mother  couldna  spin ; 
I  toil'd  day  and  night,  but  their  bread  I  couldna  win ; 
Auld  Rob  maintain'd  them  baith,  and  wi'  tears  in  his  e'e 
Said,  Jennie,  for  their  sakes,  0,  marry  me ! 

178 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Mj  heart  it  said  nay ;   I  look'd  for  Jamie  back ; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it  was  a  wrack ; 
His  ship  it  was  a  wrack  —  why  didna  Jamie  dee? 
Or  why  do  I  live  to  cry,  Wae  's  me? 

My  father  urgit  sair :  my  mother  didna  speak ; 
But  she  look'd  in  my  face  till  my  heart  was  like  to  break ; 
They  gi'ed  him  my  hand,  but  my  heart  was  at  the  sea ; 
Sae  auld  Robin  Gray  he  was  gudeman  to  me. 

I  hadna  been  a  wife  a  week  but  only  four, 
When  moumfu'  as  I  sat  on  the  stane  at  the  door, 
I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith,  for  I  couldna  think  it  he 
Till  he  said,  I  'm  come  hame  to  marry  thee. 

0  sair,  sair  did  we  greet,  and  muckle  did  we  say ; 
We  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  I  bad  him  gang  away; 

1  wish  that  I  were  dead,  but  I  'm  no  like  to  dee ; 
And  why  was  I  born  to  say,  Wae  's  me  ! 

I  gang  like  a  ghaist,  and  I  carena  to  spin ; 
I  daurna  think  on  Jamie,  for  that  wad  be  a  sin ; 
But  I  '11  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  aye  to  be. 
For  auld  Robin  Gray  he  is  kind  unto  me. 

Lady  A.  Lindsay 


CLm 
DUNCAN    GRAY 

DUNCAN  GRAY  cam  here  to  woo, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't ; 
On  blythe  Yule  night  when  we  were  fou, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't : 
179 


THE     GaLDEN     TREASURY 

Maggie  coost  her  head  fu'  nigh, 
Look'd  asklent  and  unco  skeigh, 
Gart  poor  Duncan  stand  abeigh ; 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't ! 


Duncan  fleech'd,  and  Duncan  pray'd ; 
Meg  was  deaf  as  Ailsa  Craig ; 
Duncan  sigh'd  baith  out  and  in, 
Grat  his  een  baith  bleer't  and  Win', 
Spak  o'  lowpin  ower  a  Hnn ! 

Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide, 
Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide ; 
Shall  I,  like  a  fool,  quoth  he, 
For  a  haughty  hizzie  dee? 
She  may  gae  to  —  France  for  me ! 

How  it  comes  let  doctors  tell, 

Meg  grew  sick  —  as  he  grew  heal ; 

Something  in  her  bosom  wrings. 

For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings ; 

And  O,  her  een,  they  spak  sic  things ! 

Duncan  was  a  lad  o'  grace; 
Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case; 
Duncan  couldna  be  her  death, 
Swelling  pity  smoor'd  his  wrath ; 
Now  they  're  crouse  and  canty  baith : 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't ! 

R.  Burns 


180 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

CLIV 

THE    SAILOR'S    WIFE 

AND  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true? 
And  are  ye  sure  he  's  weel? 
Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark? 

Ye  jades,  lay  by  your  wheel; 
Is  this  the  time  to  spin  a  thread, 

When  Colin  's  at  the  door? 
Reach  down  my  cloak,  I  '11  to  the  quay, 

And  see  him  come  ashore. 
For  there  's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There  's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There  's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 

When  our  gudeman  's  awa'. 

And  gie  to  me  my  bigonet, 

My  bishop's  satin  gown; 
For  I  maun  tell  the  bailHe's  wife 

That  Colin  's  in  the  town. 
My  Turkey  slippers  maun  gae  on, 

My  stockins  pearly  blue; 
It 's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman, 

For  he  's  baith  leal  and  true. 

Rise,  lass,  and  mak  a  clean  fireside, 

Put  on  the  muckle  pot; 
Gie  little  Kate  her  button  eown 

And  Jock  his  Sunday  coat ; 
And  mak  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes, 

Their  hose  as  white  as  snaw ; 
It 's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman. 

For  he  's  been  long  awa'. 
181 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

There  's  twa  fat  hens  upo'  the  coop 

Been  fed  this  month  and  mair ; 
Mak  haste  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 

That  Colin  weel  may  fare; 
And  spread  the  table  neat  and  clean, 

Gar  ilka  thing  look  braw. 
For  wha  can  tell  how  Colin  fared 

When  he  was  far  awa'? 


Sae  true  his  heart,  sae  smooth  his  speech, 

His  breath  like  caller  air ; 
His  very  foot  has  music  in  't 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair  — 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak? 
I  'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I  'm  like  to  greet ! 

If  Colin  's  weel,  and  weel  content, 

I  hae  nae  mair  to  crave: 
And  gin  I  live  to  keep  him  sae, 

I  'm  blest  aboon  the  lave : 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again. 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak? 
I  'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I  'm  like  to  greet. 
For  there  's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There  's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There  's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 

When  our  gudeman  's  awa'. 

W.  J.  MiCKLE 


182 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 


CliV 


JEAN 


OF  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 
I  dearly  like  the  West, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row, 

And  mony  a  hill  between ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 
Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair : 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air: 
There  's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green. 
There  's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

O  blaw  ye  westhn  winds,  blaw  saft 

Amang  the  leafy  trees ; 
Wi'  balmy  gale,  frae  hill  and  dale 

Bring  hame  the  laden  bees ; 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me 

That 's  aye  sae  neat  and  clean ; 
Ae  smile  o'  her  wad  banish  care, 

Sae  charming  is  my  Jean. 

What  sighs  and  vows  amang  the  knowes 

Hae  pass'd  atween  us  twa ! 
How  fond  to  meet,  how  wae  to  part 

That  night  she  gaed  awa ! 
183 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

The  Powers  aboon  can  only  ken 

To  whom  the  heart  is  seen, 
That  nane  can  be  sae  dear  to  me 

As  my  sweet  lovely  Jean! 

R.  Burns 

CLVI 

JOHN    ANDERSON 

JOHN  ANDERSON  my  jo,  John, 
When  we  were  first  acquent 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 
Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  bald,  John, 
Your  locks  are  like  the  snow; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
We  clamb  the  hill  thegither. 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 
We  've  had  wi'  ane  anither : 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 
But  hand  in  hand  we  '11  go. 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

R.  Burns 

cLvn 
THE    LAND    O'    THE    LEAL 

I'M  wearing  awa',  Jean, 
Like  snaw  when  it 's  thaw,  Jean, 
I  'm  wearing  awa' 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
184) 


SONGS     AND    LYRICS 

There  's  nae  sorrow  there,  Jean, 
There  's  neither  cauld  nor  care,  Jean, 
The  day  is  aye  fair 

In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Ye  were  aye  leal  and  true,  Jean, 
Your  task  's  ended  noo,  Jean, 
And  I  '11  welcome  you 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
Our  bonnie  bairn  's  there,  Jean, 
She  was  baith  guid  and  fair,  Jean; 
O  we  grudged  her  right  sair 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal ! 

Then  dry  that  tearfu'  e'e,  Jean, 
My  soul  langs  to  be  free,  Jean, 
And  angels  wait  on  me 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
Now  fare  ye  weel,  my  ain  Jean, 
This  warld's  care  is  vain,  Jean ; 
We  '11  meet  and  aye  be  fain 

In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Lady  Lairn 


CLvin 

ODE    ON    A    DISTANT    PROSPECT    OF 
ETON    COLLEGE 

YE  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 
That  crown  the  watery  glade. 
Where  grateful  Science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's   holy   shade ; 
And  ye,  that  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  Windsor's  heights  th'  expanse  below 

185 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey, 
Whose  turf,  whose  shade,  whose  flowers  among 
Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 
His  silver-winding  way : 

All  happy  hills  !  ah  pleasing  shade ! 

Ah  fields  beloved  in  vain! 
When  once  my  careless  childhood  stray'd, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow. 
As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe, 
And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth. 

To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

Say,  Father  Thames,  for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race 
Disporting  on  thy  margent  green 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace ; 
Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave 
W^ith  pliant  arm,  thy  glassy  wave? 
The  captive  linnet  which  enthral? 
What  idle  progeny  succeed 
To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed 

Or  urge  the  flying  ball? 

While  some  on  earnest  business  bent 

Their  murmuring  labours  ply 
'Gainst  graver  hours,  that  bring  constraint 

To  sweeten  liberty : 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  little  reign 
And  unknown  regions  dare  descry : 
Still  as  they  run  they  look  behind. 
They  hear  a  voice  in  every  wind, 

And  snatch  a  fearful  joy. 
186 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Gay  Hope  is  theirs  by  fancy  fed, 

Less  pleasing  when  possest ; 
The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed, 

The  sunshine  of  the  breast: 
Theirs  buxom  Health,  of  rosy  hue. 
Wild  Wit,  Invention  ever  new. 
And  lively  Cheer,  of  Vigour  born ; 
The  thoughtless  day,  the  easy  night. 
The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light 

That  fly  th'  approach  of  morn. 

Alas !    regardless  of  their  doom 

The  little  victims  play! 
No  sense  have  they  of  ills  to  come 

Nor  care  beyond  to-day : 
Yet  see  how  all  around  'em  wait 
The  ministers  of  human  fate 
And  black  Misfortune's  baleful  train ! 
Ah  shew  them  where  in  ambush  stand 
To  seize  their  prey,  the  murderous  band! 

Ah,  tell  them  they  are  men! 

These  shall  the  fury  Passions  tear, 

The  vultures  of  the  mind. 
Disdainful  Anger,  Pallid  Fear, 

And  Shame  that  sculks  behind ; 
Or  pining  Love  shall  waste  their  youth, 
Or  Jealousy  with  rankling  tooth 
That  inly  gnaws  the  secret  heart. 
And  Envy  wan,  and  faded  Care, 
Grim-visaged  comfortless  Despair, 

And  Sorrow's  piercing  dart. 

Ambition  this  shall  tempt  to  rise. 
Then  whirl  the  wretch  from  high 

To  bitter  Scorn  a  sacrifice 
And  grinning  Infamy. 
187 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

The  stings  of  Falsehood  those  shall  try 
And  hard  Unkindness'  alter'd  eye, 
That  mocks  the  tear  it  forced  to  flow ; 
And  keen  Remorse  with  blood  defiled, 
And  moody  Madness  laughing  wild 
Amid  severest  woe. 

Lo,  in  the  Vale  of  Years  beneath 

A  griesly  troop  are  seen. 
The  painful  family  of  Death, 

More  hideous  than  their  Queen: 
This  racks  the  j  oints,  this  fires  the  veins, 
That  every  labouring  sinew  strains, 
Those  in  the  deepest  vitals  rage : 
Lo !   Poverty,  to  fill  the  band, 
That  numbs  the  soul  with  icy  hand. 

And  slow-consuming  Age. 

To  each  his  sufferings :    all  are  men, 

Condemn'd  alike  to  groan ; 
The  tender  for  another's  pain, 

Th'  unfeeling  for  his  own. 
Yet,  ah !  why  should  they  know  their  fate, 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too  late. 
And  happiness  too  swiftly  flies? 
Thought  would  destroy  their  paradise ! 
No  more  ;  —  where  ignorance  is  bliss, 

'T  is  folly  to  be  wise.  ^    ^ 

CLIX 

HYMN    TO    ADVERSITY 

DAUGHTER  of  Jove,  relentless  power. 
Thou  tamer  of  the  human  breast. 
Whose  iron  scourge  and  torturing  hour 
The  bad  affright,  afflict  the  best ! 
188 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Bound  In  thy  adamantine  chain 
The  proud  are  taught  to  taste  of  pain, 
And  purple  tyrants  vainly  groan 
With  pangs  unfelt  before,  unpitied  and  alone. 

When  first  thy  Sire  to  send  on  earth 
Virtue,  his  darling  child,  design'd. 

To  thee  he  gave  the  heavenly  birth 
And  bade  to  form  her  infant  mind. 

Stern,  rugged  Nurse !   thy  rigid  lore 

With  patience  many  a  year  she  bore ; 

What  sorrow  was,  thou  bad'st  her  know. 
And  from  her  own  she  learn'd  to  melt  at  others'  woe. 

Scared  at  thy  frown  terrific,  fly 
Self-pleasing  Folly's  idle  brood, 

Wild  Laughter,  Noise,  and  thoughtless  Joy, 
And  leave  us  leisure  to  be  good. 

Light  they  disperse,  and  with  them  go 

The  summer  Friend,  the  flattering  Foe ; 

By  vain  Prosperity  received. 
To  her  they  vow  their  truth,  and  are  again  believed. 

Wisdom  in  sable  garb  array'd 

Immersed  in  rapturous  thought  profound, 
And  Melancholy,  silent  maid, 

With  leaden  eye,  that  loves  the  ground, 
Still  on  thy  solemn  steps  attend: 
Warm  Charity,  the  general  friend. 
With  Justice,  to  herself  severe, 
And  Pity  dropping  soft  the  sadly-pleasing  tear. 

O !  gently  on  thy  suppliant's  head 

Dread  Goddess,  lay  thy  chastening  hand ! 

Not  in  thy  Gorgon  terrors  clad, 
Nor  circled  with  the  vengeful  band 
189 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

(As  by  the  impious  thou  art  seen) 
With  thundering  voice,  and  threatening  mien, 
With  screaming  Horror's  funeral  cry, 
Despair  and  fell  Disease,  and  ghastly  Poverty ;  — 

Thy  form  benign,  O  Goddess,  wear, 

Thy  milder  influence  impart. 
Thy  philosophic  train  be  there 

To  soften,  not  to  wound  my  heart. 
The  generous  spark  extinct  revive. 
Teach  me  to  love  and  to  forgive 
Exact  my  own  defects  to  scan. 
What  others  are  to  feel,  and  know  myself  a  Man. 

T.  Gray 

CLX 

THE    SOLITUDE    OF    ALEXANDER 
SELKIRK 

I  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey ; 
My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute; 
From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea 
I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

0  Solitude !  where  are  the  charms 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face? 
Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 

I  must  finish  my  journey  alone. 
Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech; 
I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 
The  beasts  that  roam  over  the  plain 
My  form  with  indifference  see ; 
They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 
Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me. 
190 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Society,  Friendship,  and  Love 
Divinely  bestow'd  upon  man, 
O,  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove 
How  soon  would  I  taste  you  again ! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 
In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age, 
And  be  cheer'd  by  the  sallies  of  youth. 

Ye  winds  that  have  made  me  your  sport, 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 

Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more : 

My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me? 

O  tell  me  I  yet  have  a  friend. 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see. 

How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the  mind ! 
Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight, 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind. 
And  the  swift-winged  arrows  of  light. 
When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land 
In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there; 
But  alas !  recollection  at  hand 
Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

But  the  sea-fowl  is  gone  to  her  nest, 
The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 
And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There  's  mercy  in  every  place. 
And  mercy,  encouraging  thought! 
Gives  even  affliction  a  grace 
And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot. 

W.   COWPER 

191 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

CLXI 

TO    MARY    UNWIN 

MARY!   I  want  a  lyre  with  other  strings, 
Such  aid  from  heaven  as  some  have  feign'd  they  drew, 
An  eloquence  scarce  given  to  mortals,  new 
And  undebased  by  praise  of  meaner  things, 

That  ere  through  age  or  woe  I  shed  my  wings 
I  may  record  thy  words  with  honour  due. 
In  verse  as  musical  as  thou  art  true, 
And  that  immortalizes  whom  it  sings :  — 

But  thou  hast  little  need.     There  is  a  Book 
By  seraphs  writ  with  beams  of  heavenly  light, 
On  which  the  eyes  of  God  not  rarely  look, 

A  chronicle  of  actions  just  and  bright  — 
There  all  thy  deeds,  my  faithful  Mary,  shine ; 
And  since  thou  own'st  that  praise,  I  spare  thee  mine. 

W.   COWPER 

CLxn 
TO    THE    SAME 

THE  twentieth  year  is  well-nigh  past 
Since  first  our  sky  was  overcast; 
Ah  would  that  this  might  be  the  last ! 
My  Mary! 

Thy  spirits  have  a  fainter  flow, 
I  see  thee  daily  weaker  grow  — 
'T  was  my  distress  that  brought  thee  low, 
My  Mary! 

192 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Thj  needles,  once  a  shining  store, 
For  my  sake  restless  heretofore. 
Now  rust  disused,  and  shine  no  more ; 
My  Mary! 

For  though  thou  gladly  wouldst  fulfil 
The  same  kind  office  for  me  still, 
Thy  sight  now  seconds  not  thy  will, 
My  Mary! 

But  well  thou  play'dst  the  housewife's  part. 
And  all  thy  threads  with  magic  art 
Have  wound  themselves  about  this  heart. 
My  Mary! 

Thy  indistinct  expressions  seem 
Like  language  utter'd  in  a  dream ; 
Yet  me  they  charm,  whate'er  the  theme, 
My  Mary! 

Thy  silver  locks,  once  auburn  bright, 
Are  still  more  lovely  in  my  sight 
Than  golden  beams  of  orient  light, 
My  Mary! 

For  could  I  view  nor  them  nor  thee, 
What  sight  worth  seeing  could  I  see? 
The  sun  would  rise  in  vain  for  me, 
My  Mary! 

Partakers  of  thy  sad  decline 
Thy  hands  their  little  force  resign ; 
Yet,  gently  press'd,  press  gently  mine, 
My  Mary! 

193 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Such  feebleness  of  limbs  thou  prov'st 
That  now  at  every  step  thou  mov'st 
Upheld  by  two ;   yet  still  thou  lov'st, 
My  Mary! 

And  still  to  love,  though  press'd  with  ill, 
In  wintry  age  to  feel  no  chill. 
With  me  is  to  be  lovely  still. 
My  Mary! 

But  ah !   by  constant  heed  I  know 
How  oft  the  sadness  that  I  show 
Transforms  thy  smiles  to  looks  of  woe, 
My  Mary! 

And  should  my  future  lot  be  cast 
With  much  resemblance  of  the  past, 
Thy  worn-out  heart  will  break  at  last  — 
My  Mary! 

W.   COWPER 


CLxin 
THE    DYING    MAN    IN    HIS    GARDEN 

WHY,  Damon,  with  the  forward  day 
Dost  thou  thy  little  spot  survey, 
From  tree  to  tree,  with  doubtful  cheer. 
Pursue  the  progress  of  the  year, 
What  winds  arise,  what  rains  descend. 
When  thou  before  that  year  shalt  end? 

What  do  thy  noontide  walks  avail. 
To  clear  the  leaf,  and  pick  the  snail, 
Then  wantonly  to  death  decree 
An  insect  usefuller  than  thee? 

194 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Thou  and  the  worm  are  brother-kind, 
As  low,  as  earthy,  and  as  blind. 

Vain  wretch !  canst  thou  expect  to  see 
The  downy  peach  make  court  to  thee? 
Or  that  thy  sense  shall  ever  meet 
The  bean-flower's  deep-embosom'd  sweet 
Exhaling  with  an  evening  blast? 
Thy  evenings  then  will  all  be  past ! 

Thy  narrow  pride,  thy  fancied  green 
(For  vanity  's  in  little  seen) 
All  must  be  left  when  Death  appears, 
In  spite  of  wishes,  groans,  and  tears ; 
Nor  one  of  all  thy  plants  that  grow 
But  Rosemary  will  with  thee  go. 

G.  Seweli. 


CLXIV 

TO-MORROW 

IN  the  downhill  of  life,  when  I  find  I  'm  declining, 
May  my  fate  no  less  fortunate  be 
Than  a  snug  elbow-chair  can  afford  for  reclining. 

And  a  cot  that  o'erlooks  the  wide  sea; 
With  an  ambling  pad-pony  to  pace  o'er  the  lawn. 

While  I  carol  away  idle  sorrow, 
And  blithe  as  the  lark  that  each  day  hails  the  dawn 
Look  forward  with  hope  for  to-morrow. 

With  a  porch  at  my  door,  both  for  shelter  and  shade  too. 

As  the  sun-shine  or  rain  may  prevail ; 
And  a  small  spot  of  ground  for  the  use  of  the  spade  too. 

With  a  barn  for  the  use  of  the  flail: 

195 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

A  cow  for  mj  dairy,  a  dog  for  my  game, 
And  a  purse  when  a  friend  wants  to  borrow ; 

I  '11  envy  no  nabob  his  riches  or  fame. 

Nor  what  honours  may  wait  him  to-morrow. 

From  the  bleak  northern  blast  may  my  cot  be  completely 

Secured  by  a  neighbouring  hill; 
And  at  night  may  repose  steal  upon  me  more  sweetly 

By  the  sound  of  a  murmuring  rill : 
And  while  peace  and  plenty  I  find  at  my  board, 

With  a  heart  free  from  sickness  and  sorrow, 
With  my  friends  may  I  share  what  to-day  may  afford. 

And  let  them  spread  the  table  to-morrow. 

And  when  I  at  last  must  throw  off  this  frail  covering, 

Which  I  've  worn  for  three-score  years  and  ten, 
On  the  brink  of  the  grave  I  '11  not  seek  to  keep  hovering, 

Nor  my  thread  wish  to  spin  o'er  again : 
But  my  face  in  the  glass  I  '11  serenely  survey, 

And  with  smiles  count  each  wrinkle  and  furrow ; 
And  this  old  worn-out  stuff,  which  is  threadbare  to-day, 

May  become  everlasting  to-morrow. 

J.  Collins 

CLXV 

LIFE 

T     IFE  !   I  know  not  what  thou  art, 
■Li     But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part ; 
And  when,  or  how,  or  where  we  met 
I  own  to  me  's  a  secret  yet. 

Life !    we  've  been  long  together 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather ; 
'T  is  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear  — 
Perhaps  't  will  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear ; 

196 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

—  Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time ; 
Say  not  Good  Night,  —  but  in  some  brighter  clune 

Bid  me  Good  Morning. 

A.  L.  Barbauld 


197 


BOOK    FOURTH 


CLXVI 


i(s>(p 


ON    FIRST    LOOKING    INTO    CHAPMAN'S 

HOMER 

MUCH  have  I  travell'd  in  the  realms  of  gold 
And  many  goodly  states  and  kingdoms  seen ; 
Round  many  western  islands  have  I  been 
Which  bards  in  fealty  to  Apollo  hold. 

Oft  of  one  wide  expanse  had  I  been  told 
That  deep-brow'd  Homer  ruled  as  his  demesne : 
Yet  did  I  never  breathe  its  pure  serene 
Till  I  heard  Chapman  speak  out  loud  and  bold : 

—  Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 

When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken ; 

Or  like  stout  Cortez  —  when  with  eagle  eyes 

He  stared  at  the  Pacific  —  and  all  his  men 
Look'd  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise  — 
Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien. 

J.  Keats 


CLXVII 

ODE    ON    THE    POETS 

BARDS  of  Passion  and  of  Mirth 
Ye  have  left  your  souls  on  earth ! 
Have  ye  souls  in  heaven  too, 
Double-lived  in  regions  new? 
—  Yes,  and  those  of  heaven  commune 
With  the  spheres  of  sun  and  moon ; 
198 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

With  the  noise  of  fountains  wondrous 
And  the  parle  of  voices  thunderous ; 
With  the  whisper  of  heaven's  trees 
And  one  another,  in  soft  ease 
Seated  on  Elysian  lawns 
Browsed  by  none  but  Dian's  fawns  ; 
Underneath  large  blue-bells  tented, 
Where  the  daisies  are  rose-scented, 
And  the  rose  hrself  has  got 
Perfume  which  on  earth  is  not ; 
Where  the  nightingale  doth  sing 
Not  a  senseless,  tranced  thing, 
But  divine  melodious  truth ; 
Philosophic  numbers  smooth ; 
Tales  and  golden  histories 
Of  heaven  and  its  mysteries. 

Thus  ye  live  on  high,  and  then 
On  the  earth  ye  live  again; 
And  the  souls  ye. left  behind  you 
Teach  us,  here,  the  way  to  find  you, 
Where  your  other  souls  are  joying, 
Never  slumber'd,  never  cloying. 
Here,  your  earth-born  souls  still  speak 
To  mortals,  of  their  little  week; 
Of  their  sorrows  and  delights  ; 
Of  their  passions  and  their  spites  ; 
Of  their  glory  and  their  shame ; 
What  doth  strengthen  and  what  maim :  - 
Thus  ye  teach  us,  every  day. 
Wisdom,  though  fled  far  away. 

Bards  of  Passion  and  of  Mirth 

Ye  have  left  your  souls  on  earth! 

Ye  have  souls  in  heaven  too. 

Double-lived  in  regions  new ! 

J.  Keats 
199 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


CLxvin 
LOVE 

ALL  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  dehghts, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame. 

Oft  in  my  waking  dreams  do  I 
Live  o'er  again  that  happy  hour. 
When  midway  on  the  mount  I  lay. 
Beside  the  ruin'd  tower. 

The  moonshine  stealing  o'er  the  scene 
Had  blended  with  the  lights  of  eve; 
And  she  was  there,  my  hope,  my  joy. 
My  own  dear  Genevieve ! 

She  lean'd  against  the  armed  man, 
The  statue  of  the  armed  knight ; 
She  stood  and  listen'd  to  my  lay, 
Amid  the  lingering  light. 

Few  sorrows  hath  she  of  her  own. 
My  hope!    my  joy!   my  Genevieve! 
She  loves  me  best,  whene'er  I  sing 
The  songs  that  make  her  grieve. 

I  play'd  a  soft  and  doleful  air, 
I  sang  an  old  and  moving  story  — 
An  old  rude  song,  that  suited  well 
That  ruin  wild  and  hoary. 

She  listen'd  with  a  flitting  blush. 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace ; 
For  well  she  knew,  I  could  not  choose 
But  gaze  upon  her  face. 
200 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

I  told  her  of  the  Knight  that  wore 
Upon  his  shield  a  burning  brand ; 
And  that  for  ten  long  years  he  woo'd 
The  Lady  of  the  Land. 

I  told  how  he  pined:    and  ah! 
The  deep,  the  low,  the  pleading  tone 
With  which  I  sang  another's  love 
Interpreted  my  own. 

She  listcn'd  with  a  flitting  blush, 
With  downcast  eyes,  and  modest  grace; 
And  she  forgave  me,  that  I  gazed 
Too  fondly  on  her  face! 

But  when  I  told  the  cruel  scorn 
That  crazed  that  bold  and  lovely  Knight, 
And  that  he  cross'd  the  mountain-woods, 
Nor  rested  day  nor  night; 

That  sometimes  from  the  savage  den. 
And  sometimes  from  the  darksome  shade 
And  sometimes  starting  up  at  once 
In  green  and  sunny  glade 

There  came  and  look'd  him  in  the  face 
An  angel  beautiful  and  bright ; 
And  that  he  knew  it  was  a  Fiend, 
This  miserable  Knight! 

And  that  unknowing  what  he  did, 
He  leap'd  amid  a  murderous  band, 
And  saved  from  outrage  worse  than  death 
The  Lady  of  the  Land ; 

And  how  she  wept,  and  clasp'd  his  knees ; 
And  how  she  tended  him  in  vain  ; 
And  ever  strove  to  expiate 

The  scorn  that  crazed  his  brain ; 
201 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

And  that  she  nursed  him  in  a  cave, 
And  how  his  madness  went  away, 
When  on  the  yellow  forest-leaves 
A  dying  man  he  lay ; 

—  His  dying  words  —  but  when  I  reach'd 
That  tenderest  strain  of  all  the  ditty, 
My  faltering  voice  and  pausing  harp 
Disturb'd  her  soul  with  pity ! 

All  impulses  of  soul  and  sense 
Had  thrill'd  my  guileless  Genevieve; 
The  music  and  the  doleful  tale. 
The  rich  and  balmy  eve; 

And  hopes,  and  fears  that  kindle  hope, 
An  undistinguishable  throng. 
And  gentle  wishes  long  subdued. 
Subdued  and  cherish'd  long ! 

She  wept  with  pity  and  delight. 
She  blush'd  with  love,  and  virgin  shame ; 
And  like  the  murmur  of  a  dream, 
I  heard  her  breathe  my  name. 

Her  bosom  heaved  — -  she  stepp'd  aside, 
As  conscious  of  my  look  she  stept  — 
Then  suddenly,  with  timorous  eye 
She  fled  to  me  and  wept. 

She  half  enclosed  me  with  her  arms. 
She  press'd  me  with  a  meek  embrace; 
And  bending  back  her  head,  look'd  up. 
And  gazed  upon  my  face. 

'T  was  partly  love,  and  partly  fear, 
And  partly  't  was  a  bashful  art 
That  I  might  rather  feel,  than  see, 
The  swelling  of  her  heart. 
202 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

I  calm'd  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm, 
And  told  her  love  with  virgin  pride ; 
And  so  I  won  my  Genevieve, 

My  bright  and  beauteous  Bride. 

S.  T.  Coleridge 


CLXIX 

ALL    FOR    LOVE 

OTALK  not  to  me  of  a  name  great  in  story; 
The  days  of  our  youth  are  the  days  of  our  glory  ; 
And  the  myrtle  and  ivy  of  sweet  two-and-twenty 
Are  worth  all  your  laurels,  though  ever  so  plenty. 

What  are  garlands  and  crowns  to  the  brow  that  is 

wrinkled? 
'T  is  but  as  a  dead  flower  with  May-dew  besprinkled : 
Then  away  with  all  such  from  the  head  that  is  hoary  — 
What  care  I  for  the  wreaths  that  can  only  give  glory  ? 

Oh  Fame !  —  if  I  e'er  took  delight  in  thy  praises^ 
'T  was  less  for  the  sake  of  thy  high-sounding  phrases, 
Than  to  see  the  bright  eyes  of  the  dear  one  discover 
She  thought  that  I  was  not  unworthy  to  love  her. 

There  chiefly  I  sought  thee,  there  only  I  found  thee ; 
Her  glance  was  the  best  of  the  rays  that  surround  thee ; 
When  it  sparkled  o'er  aught  that  was  bright  in  my  story, 
I  knew  it  was  love,  and  I  felt  it  was  glory. 

Lord  Byron 


203 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


CLXX 


o 


THE    OUTLAW 
BRIGNALL  banks  are  wild  and  fair 


And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

Would  grace  a  summer-queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-Hall 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  Maiden  on  the  castle-wall 

Was  singing  merrily: 
'  O  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I  'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

Than  reign  our  English  queen.' 

*  If,  Maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town, 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read. 

As  read  full  wellyou  may, 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shalt  thou  speed 

As  blithe  as  Queen  of  May.' 
Yet  sung  she,  '  Brignall  banks  are  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I  'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

*  I  read  you,  by  your  bugle-horn 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn 
To  keep  the  king's  greenwood.' 
204 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

*A  Ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  't  is  at  peep  of  light ; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn, 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night.' 
Yet  sung  she,  '  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay ; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there 

To  reign  his  Queen  of  May! 

'  With  burnish'd  brand  and  musketoon 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  Dragoon 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum.' 
'  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum. 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 
And  O!  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay. 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare 

Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May! 

'  Maiden !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I  '11  die ; 
The  fiend  whose  lantern  hghts  the  mead 

Were  better  mate  than  I! 
And  when  I  'm  with  my  comrades  met 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough,  — 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget. 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now.' 

Chorus 

'  Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green. 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 
Would  grace  a  summer-queen.' 

Sir  W.  Scott 
205 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


CLXXI 

THERE  be  none  of  Beauty's  daughters 
With  a  magic  Hke  Thee ; 
And  hke  music  on  the  waters 

Is  thy  sweet  voice  to  me: 
When,  as  if  its  sound  were  causing 
The  charmed  ocean's  pausing, 
The  waves  he  still  and  gleaming, 
And  the  lull'd  winds  seem  dreaming: 

And  the  midnight  moon  is  weaving 
Her  bright  chain  o'er  the  deep, 

Whose  breast  is  gently  heaving 
As  an  infant's  asleep: 

So  the  spirit  bows  before  thee 

To  listen  and  adore  thee ; 

With  a  full  but  soft  emotion, 

Like  the  swell  of  Summer's  ocean. 

Lord  Byron 

cxxxn 
LINES    TO    AN    INDIAN    AIR 

I    ARISE  from  dreams  of  Thee 
In  the  first  sweet  sleep  of  night. 
When  the  winds  are  breathing  low 
And  the  stars  are  shining  bright: 
I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee, 
And  a  spirit  in  my  feet 
Hath  led  me  —  who  knows  how? 
To  thy  chamber-window,  Sweet ! 

The  wandering  airs  they  faint 
On  the  dark,  the  silent  stream  — 
206 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

The  champak  odours  fail 

Like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  dream ; 

The  nightingale's  complaint 

It  dies   upon  her  heart, 

As   I  must  die   on  thine 

O   beloved  as   thou   art ! 

0  lift  me  from  the  grass ! 

1  die,  I   faint,  I  fail! 
Let  thy  love  in  kisses  rain 
On  my  lips  and  eyelids  pale. 

My  cheek  is  cold  and  white,  alas ! 
My  heart  beats  loud  and  fast; 
O !  press  it  close  to  thine  again 
Where  it  will  break  at  last. 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CLXXIII 

SHE  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies. 
And  all  that 's  best  of  dark  and  bright 
Meet  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes ; 
Thus  mellow'd  to  that  tender  light 
Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 

One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  the  less, 
Had  half  impair'd  the  nameless  grace 
Which  waves  in  every  raven  tress 
Or  softly  lightens  o'er  her  face. 
Where  thoughts  serenely  sweet  express 
How  pure,  how  dear  their  dwelling-place. 

And  on  that  cheek  and  o'er  that  brow 
So  soft,  so  calm,  yet  eloquent, 

207 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

The  smiles  that  win,  the  tints  that  glow 
But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent,  — 
A  mind  at  peace  with  all  below, 
A  heart  whose  love  is  innocent. 

Lord  Byron 


CLXXIV 

SHE  was  a  phantom  of  delight 
When  first  she  gleam'd  upon  my  sight ; 
A  lovely  apparition,  sent 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 
Her  eyes  as  stars  of  twilight  fair; 
Like  Twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair; 
But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  dawn ; 
A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay. 
To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  waylay. 

I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 

A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too ! 

Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 

And  steps  of  virgin-liberty ; 

A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 

Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food. 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles. 

And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine ; 
A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  traveller  between  life  and  death: 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will. 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill; 

208 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

A  perfect  woman,  nobly  plann'd 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  Spirit  still,  and  bright 
With   something  of  an   angel-light. 

W.   WORDSWOETH 


CLXXV 

SHE  is  not  fair  to  outward  view 
As  many  maidens  be ; 
Her  loveliness  I  never  knew 
Until  she  smiled  on  me. 

0  then  I  saw  her  eye  was  bright, 
A  well  of  love,  a  spring  of  light. 

But  now  her  looks  are  coy  and  cold, 

To  mine  they  ne'er  reply. 
And  yet  I  cease  not  to  behold 

The  love-light  in  her  eye: 
Her  very  frowns  are  fairer  far 
Than  smiles  of  other  maidens  are. 

H.  Coleridge 

CLXXVI 

I  FEAR  thy  kisses,  gentle  maiden ; 
Thou  needest  not  fear  mine ; 
My  spirit  is  too  deeply  laden 
Ever  to  burthen  thine. 

1  fear  thy  mien,  thy  tones,  thy  motion ; 
Thou  needest  not  fear  mine; 
Innocent  is  the  heart's  devotion 

With  which  I  worship  thine. 

P.  B.  Shelley 
209 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

CLxxvn 
THE    LOST    LOVE 

SHE  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 
Beside  the  springs  of  Dove ; 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 
And  very  few  to  love. 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half-hidden  from  the  eye! 
—  Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  O! 

The  difference  to  me ! 

W.  Wordsworth 

CLXxvin 

ITRAVELL'D  among  unknoAvn  men 
In  lands  beyond  the  sea ; 
Nor,  England !  did  I  know  till  then 
What  love  I  bore  to  thee. 

'T  is  past,  that  melancholy  dream  ! 

Nor  will  I  quit  thy  shore 
A  second  time,  for  still  I  seem 

To  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Among  thy  mountains  did  I  feel 

The  joy  of  my  desire; 
And  she  I  cherish'd  turn'd  her  wheel 

Beside  an  English  fire. 
210 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Thy  mornings  show'd,  thy  nights  conceal'd 
The  bowers  where  Lucy  play'd ; 

And  thine  too  is  the  last  green  field 
That  Lucy's  eyes  survey'd. 

W.  Wordsworth 


CLXXIX 

THE    EDUCATION    OF    NATLTIE 

THREE  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower ; 
Then  Nature  said,  '  A  lovelier  flower 
On  earth  was  never  sown : 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

'  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 

Both  law  and  impulse :    and  with  me 

The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 

In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 

Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

*  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn 
Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm. 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 
Of  mute  insensate  things. 

'  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  ;    for  her  the  willow  bend ; 
Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 

211 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

E'en  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden's  form 
By  silent  sympathy. 

*  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 

To  her ;    and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 

And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

'  And  vital  feelings  of  delight 

Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height, 

Her  virgin  bosom  swell ; 

Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 

Where  she  and  I  together  live 

Here  in  this  happy  dell.' 

Thus  Nature  spake  —  The  work  was  done  — 

How  soon  my  Luc3^'s  race  was  run ! 

She  died,  and  left  to  me 

This  heath,  this  calm  and  quiet  scene ; 

The  memory  of  what  has  been, 

And  never  more  will  be. 

W.  Wordsworth 


CLXXX 

A  SLUMBER  did  my  spirit  seal ; 
I  had  no  human  fears : 
She  seem'd  a  thing  that  could  not  feel 
The  touch  of  earthly  years. 

No  motion  has  she  now,  no  force ; 

She  neither  hears  nor  sees  ; 
Roll'd  round  in  earth's  diurnal  course 
With  rocks,  and  stones,  and  trees. 

W.  Wordsworth 
212 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

CLXXXI 

LORD    ULLIN'S    DAUGHTER 

A  CHIEFTAIN  to  the  Highlands  bound 
Cries  '  Boatman,  do  not  tarry ! 
And  I  '11  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry ! ' 

'  Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water?  ' 
'  O  I  'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
And  this,  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

*  And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we  've  fled  together, 
For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

'  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride  — 
Should  they  our  steps  discover. 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride, 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover?  ' 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
'  I  '11  go,  my  chief,  I  'm  ready : 
It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 
But  for  your  winsome  lady  :  — 

*  And  by  my  word !  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry ;  ^ 

So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white 
I  '11  row  you  o'er  the  ferry.' 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace. 
The  water-wraith  was  shrieking ; 
And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

213 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind, 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

'  O  haste  thee,  haste ! '  the  lady  cries, 
'  Though  tempests  round  us  gather ; 
I  '11  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father.' 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 
A  stormy  sea  before  her,  — 
When,  O !  too  strong  for  human  hand 
The  tempest  gather'd  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  row'd  amidst  the  roar 
Of  waters  fast  prevailing: 
Lord  Ullin  reach'd  that  fatal  shore,  — 
His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

For,  sore  dismay'd,  through  storm  and  shade 
His  child  he  did  discover :  — 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretch'd  for  aid, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

*  Come  back !    come  back ! '  he  cried  in  grief, 
'Across  this  stormy  water: 
And  I  '11  forgive  your  Highland  chief. 
My  daughter !  —  O,  my  daughter ! ' 

'T  was  vain :   the  loud  waves  lash'd  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing: 

The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child. 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

T.  Campbell 


214 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

CLXXXII 

JOCK    OF    HAZELDEAN 

'T^  7HY  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie? 

▼    »      Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide? 
I  '11  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride : 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen  '  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 
For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

'  Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done. 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale ; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

His  sword  in  battle  keen  '  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

'  A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack, 

Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair, 
Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair; 
And  you  the  foremost  o'  them  a' 

Shall  ride  our  forest-queen  '  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

The  kirk  was  deck'd  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmer'd  fair  ; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride. 

And  dame  and  knight  arc  there: 
215 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha' ; 

The  ladie  was  not  seen ! 
She  's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Sir  W.  Scott 


CLxxxni 
FREEDOM    AND    LOVE 

HOW  dehcious  is  the  winning 
Of  a  kiss  at  love's  beginning, 
When  two  mutual  hearts  are  sighing 
For  the  knot  there  's  no  untying ! 

Yet  remember,  'midst  your  wooing 
Love  has  bliss,  but  Love  has  ruing ; 
Other  smiles  may  make  you  fickle, 
Tears  for  other  charms  may  trickle. 

Love  he  comes  and  Love  he  tarries 
Just  as  fate  or  fancy  carries ; 
Longest  stays,  when  sorest  chidden ; 
Laughs  and  flies,  when  press'd  and  bidden. 

Bind  the  sea  to  slumber  stilly. 
Bind  its  odour  to  the  lily. 
Bind  the  aspen  ne'er  to  quiver, 
Then  bind  Love  to  last  for  ever. 

Love  's  a  fire  that  needs  renewal 
Of  fresh  beauty  for  its  fuel: 
Love's  wing  moults  when  caged  and  captured, 
Only  free,  he  soars  enraptured. 
216 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Can  you  keep  the  bee  from  ranging, 
Or  the  ringdove's  neck  from  changing? 
No !  nor  fetter'd  Love  from  dying 
In  the  knot  there  's  no  untying. 

J.  Campbell 

CLXXXIV 

LOVE'S    PHILOSOPHY 

THE  fountains  mingle  with  the  river 
And  the  rivers  with  the  ocean, 
The  winds  of  heaven  mix  for  ever 
With  a  sweet  emotion ; 
Nothing  in  the  world  is  single, 
All  things  by  a  law  divine 
In  one  another's  being  mingle  — 
Why  not  I  with  thine? 

See  the  mountains  kiss  high  heaven 
And  the  waves  clasp  one  another ; 
No  sister-flower  would  be  forgiven 
If  it  disdain'd  its  brother: 
And  the  sunlight  clasps  the  earth, 
And  the  moonbeams  kiss  the  sea  — 
What  are  all  these  kissings  worth, 
If  thou  kiss  not  me? 

P.  B.  Shelley 

CLXXXV 

ECHOES 

HOW  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 
To  Music  at  night 
When,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes, 
And  far  away  o'er  lawns  and  lakes 
Goes  answering  light! 
217 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Yet  Love  hath  echoes  truer  far 

And  far  more  sweet 

Than  e'er,  beneath  the  moonlight's  star, 

Of  horn  or  lute  or  soft  guitar 

The  songs  repeat. 

'T  is  when  the  sigh,  —  in  youth  sincere 

And  only  then. 

The  sigh  that 's  breathed  for  one  to  hear  — 

Is  by  that  one,  that  only  Dear 

Breathed  back  again. 

T.  Moore 


CI/XXXVI 

A    SERENADE 

AH !    County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 
The  sun  has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange-flower  perfumes  the  bower. 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  his  lay  who  trill'd  all  day. 

Sits  hush'd  his  partner  nigh ; 
Breeze,  bird,  and  flower  confess  the  hour, 
But  where  is  County  Guy.? 

The  village  maid  steals  through  the  shade 

Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear; 
To  Beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high, 

Sings  high-born  Cavalier. 
The  star  of  Love,  all  stars  above. 

Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky, 
And  high  and  low  the  influence  know  — 

But  where  is  County  Guy.? 

Sir  W.  Scott 
218 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

CLXXXVII 

TO    THE    EVENING    STAR 

GEM  of  the  crimson-colour'd  Even, 
Companion  of  retiring  day, 
Why  at  the  closing  gates  of  heaven. 
Beloved  Star,  dost  thou  delay? 

So  fair  thy  pensile  beauty  burns 
When  soft  the  tear  of  twilight  flows  ; 
So  due  thy  plighted  love  returns 
To  chambers  brighter  than  the  rose ; 

To  Peace,  to  Pleasure,  and  to  Love 
So  kind  a  star  thou  seem'st  to  be, 
Sure  some  enamour'd  orb  above 
Descends  and  burns  to  meet  with  thee  f 

Thine  is  the  breathing,  blushing  hour 
When  all  unheavenly  passions  fly. 
Chased  by  the  soul-subduing  power 
Of  Love's  delicious  witchery, 

O !  sacred  to  the  fall  of  day 
Queen  of  propitious  stars,  appear. 
And  early  rise,  and  long  delay, 
When  Caroline  herself  is  here ! 

Shine  on  her  chosen  green  resort 
Whose  trees  the  sunward  summit  crown. 
And  wanton  flowers,  that  well  may  court 
An  angel's  feet  to  tread  them  down :  — 

Shine  on  her  sweetly  scented  road 
Thou  star  of  evening's  purple  dome. 
That  lead'st  the  nightingale  abroad, 
And  guid'st  the  pilgrim  to  his  home. 
219 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Shine  where  my  charmer's  sweeter  breath 
Embalms  the  soft  exhaling  dew, 
Where  dying  winds  a  sigh  bequeath 
To  kiss  the  cheek  of  rosy  hue :  — 

Where,  winnow'd  by  the  gentle  air 
Her  silken  tresses  darkly  flow 
And  fall  upon  her  brow  so  fair. 
Like  shadows  on  the  mountain  snow. 

Thus,  ever  thus,  at  day's  decline 
In  converse  sweet  to  wander  far  — 
O  bring  with  thee  my  Caroline, 
And  thou  shalt  be  my  Ruling  Star! 

T.  Campbell 


CLxxxvm 
TO    THE    NIGHT 

SWIPTLY  walk  over  the  western  wave, 
Spirit  of  Night ! 
Out  of  the  misty  eastern  cave 
Where,  all  the  long  and  lone  daylight, 
Thou  wovest  dreams  of  joy  and  fear 
Which  make  thee  terrible  and  dear,  — 
Swift  be  thy  flight! 

Wrap  thy  form  in  a  mantle  gray 

Star-inwrought ! 
Blind  with  thine  hair  the  eyes  of  day, 
Kiss  her  until  she  be  wearied  out : 
Then  wander  o'er  city  and  sea  and  land, 
Touching  all  with  thine  opiate  wand  — 

Come,  long-sought ! 
220 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

When  I  arose  and  saw  the  dawn, 

I  sigh'd  for  thee; 
When  light  rode  high,  and  the  dew  was  gone, 
And  noon  lay  heavy  on  flower  and  tree. 
And  the  weary  Day  turn'd  to  his  rest 
Lingering  like  an  ungloved  guest, 

I  sigh'd  for  thee. 

Thy  brother  Death  came,  and  cried 

Wouldst  thou  me? 
Th}'  sweet  child  Sleep,  the  filmy-eyed, 
Murmur'd  hke  a  noon-tide  bee 
Shall  I  nestle  near  thy  side  ? 
Wouldst  thou  me  ?  —  And  I  replied 

No,  not  thee ! 


Death  will  come  when  thou  art  dead. 

Soon,  too  soon  — 
Sleep  will  come  when  thou  art  fled; 
Of  neither  would  I  ask  the  boon 
I  ask  of  thee,  beloved  Night  — 
Swift  be  thine  approaching  flight. 

Come  soon,  soon ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CLXxxrx 
TO    A    DISTANT    FRIEND 

WHY  art  thou  silent?     Is  thy  love  a  plant 
Of  such  weak  fibre  that  the  treacherous  air 
Of  absence  withers  what  was  once  so  fair? 
Is  there  no  debt  to  pay,  no  boon  to  grant? 

221 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Yet  have  my  thoughts  for  thee  been  vigilant, 
Bound  to  thy  service  with  unceasing  care  — 
The  mind's  least  generous  wish  a  mendicant 
For  nought  but  what  thy  happiness  could  spare. 

Speak !  —  though  this  soft  warm  heart,  once  free 

to  hold 
A  thousand  tender  pleasures,  thine  and  mine, 
Be  left  more  desolate,  more  dreary  cold 

Than  a  forsaken  bird's-nest  fill'd  with  snow 
'Mid  its  own  bush  of  leafless  eglantine  — 
Speak,  that  my  torturing  doubts  their  end  may 
know! 

W.  Wordsworth 


cxc 

WHEN  we  two  parted 
In  silence  and  tears, 
Half  broken-hearted. 
To  sever  for  years. 
Pale  grew  thy  cheek  and  cold. 
Colder  thy  kiss  ; 
Truly  that  hour  foretold 
Sorrow  to  this ! 

The  dew  of  the  morning 
Sunk  chill  on  my  brow ; 
It  felt  like  the  warning 
Of  what  I  feel  now. 
Thy  vows  are  all  broken, 
And  light  is  thy  fame: 
I  hear  thy  name  spoken 
And  share  in  its  shame. 
222 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

They  name  thee  before  me, 
A  knell  to  mine  ear; 
A  shudder  comes  o'er  me  — 
Why  wert  thou  so  dear? 
They  know  not  I  knew  thee 
Who  knew  thee  too  well: 
Long,  long  shall  I  rue  thee 
Too  deeply  to  tell. 

In  secret  we  met: 

In  silence  I  grieve 

That  thy  heart  could  forget, 

Thy  spirit  deceive. 

If  I  should  meet  thee 

After  long  years, 

How  should  I  greet  thee.''  — 

With  silence  and  tears. 

Lord  Byron 


cxci 

HAPPY    INSENSIBILITY 

TN  a  drear-nighted  December, 
^   Too  happy,  happy  Tree, 
Thy  branches  ne'er  remember 
Their  green  felicity: 
The  north  cannot  undo  them 
With  a  sleety  whistle  through  them, 
Nor  frozen  thawings  glue  them 
From  budding  at  the  prime. 

In  a  drear-nighted  December, 
Too  happy,  happy  Brook, 
Thy  bubbllngs  ne'er  remember 
Apollo's  summer  look; 
223 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

But  with  a  sweet  forgetting 
They  stay  their  crystal  fretting, 
Never,  never  petting 
About  the  frozen  time. 

Ah  would  't  were  so  with  many 
A  gentle  girl  and  boy ! 
But  were  there  ever  any 
Writhed  not  at  passed  joy? 
To  know  the  change  and  feel  it, 
When  there  is  none  to  heal  it 
Nor  numbed  sense  to  steal  it  — 
Was  never  said  in  rhyme. 

J.  Keats 


CXCII 

WHERE  shall  the  lover  rest 
Whom  the  fates  sever 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast 

Parted  for  ever? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high 

Sounds  the  far  billow. 
Where  early  violets  die 
Under  the  willow. 

Eleu  loro 
Soft  shall  be  his  pillow. 

There  through  the  summer  day 

Cool  streams  are  laving: 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway. 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving ; 
There  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Parted  for  ever, 
224 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Never  again  to  wake 
Never,  O  never! 

Eleu  loro 
Never,  O  never! 

Where  shall  the  traitor  rest, 

He,  the  deceiver. 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast, 

Ruin,  and  leave  her? 
In  the  lost  battle. 

Borne  down  by  the  flying. 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  groans  of  the  dying ; 
Eleu  loro 

There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  falsehearted ; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap 

Ere  life  be  parted: 
Shame  and  dishonour  sit 

By  his  grave  ever; 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it 

Never,  O  never! 
Eleu  loro 

Never,  O  never! 

Sir  W.  Scott 


cxcni 
LA    BELLE    DAME    SANS    IVIERCI 

'/^~\  WHAT  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms, 
^^-^  Alone  and  palely  loitering? 
The  sedge  has  wither'd  from  the  lake, 
And  no  birds  sing. 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

'  O  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms ! 

So  haggard  and  so  woe-begone? 
The  squirrel's  granary  is  full, 

And  the  harvest  's  done. 

*  I  see  a  lily  on  thy  brow 

With  anguish  moist  and  fever-dew, 
And  on  thy  cheeks  a  fading  rose 
Fast  withereth  too.' 

*  I  met  a  lady  in  the  meads. 

Full  beautiful  —  a  fairy's  child. 
Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  light, 
And  her  eyes  were  wild. 

*  I  made  a  garland  for  her  head, 

And  bracelets  too,  and  fragrant  zone ; 
She  look'd  at  me  as  she  did  love. 
And  made  sweet  moan. 

*  I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed 

And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long, 
For  sidelong  would  she  bend,  and  sing 
A  fairy's  song. 

*  She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet, 

And  honey  wild  and  manna-dew, 
And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said 
"  I  love  thee  true." 

*  She  took  me  to  her  elfin  grot. 

And  there  she  wept  and  sigh'd  full  sore, 
And  there  I  shut  her  wild  wild  eyes 
With  kisses  four. 

'  And  there  she  lulled  me  asleep. 

And  there  I  dream'd  —  Ah !  woe  betide ! 

The  latest  dream  I  ever  dream'd 
On  the  cold  hill's  side. 
226 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

'  I  saw  pale  kings  and  princes  too, 

Pale  warriors,  death-pale  were  they  all. 

They  cried  —  "  La  belle  Dame  sans  Merci 
Hath  thee  in  thrall !  " 

*  I  saw  their  starved  lips  in  the  gloam 
With  horrid  warning  gaped  wide, 

And  I  awoke  and  found  me  here 
On  the  cold  hill's  side. 

'  And  this  is  why  I  sojourn  here 

Alone  and  palely  loitering, 
Though  the  sedge  is  wither'd  from  the  lake, 

And  no  birds  sing.' 

J.  Keats 


cxciv 
THE    ROVER 

A     WEARY  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 
-^^^    A  weary  lot  is  thine! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid. 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine. 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green  — • 

No  more  of  me  you  knew 
My  Love ! 
No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

*  This  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

The  rose  is  budding  fain ; 
But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow 

Ere  we  two  meet  again.' 
227 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

He  turn'd  his  charger  as  he  spake 

Upon  the  river  shore. 
He  gave  the  bridle-reins  a  shake, 
Said  *  Adieu  for  evermore 
My  Love ! 
And  adieu  for  evermore.' 

Sir  W.  Scott 


cxcv 
THE    FLIGHT    OF    LOVE 

WHEN  the  lamp  is  shatter'd 
The  light  in  the  dust  lies  dead 
When  the  cloud  is  scatter'd, 
The  rainbow's  glory  is  shed. 
When  the  lute  is  broken, 
Sweet  tones  are  remember'd  not ; 
When  the  lips  have  spoken, 
Loved  accents  are  soon  forgot. 

As  music  and  splendour 

Survive  not  the  lamp  and  the  lute. 

The  heart's  echoes  render 

No  song  when  the  spirit  is  mute  — 

No  song  but  sad  dirges, 

Like  the  wind  through  a  ruin'd  cell, 

Or  the  mournful  surges 

That  ring  the  dead  seaman's  knell. 

When  heart  have  once  mingled, 
Love  first  leaves  the  well-built  nest ; 
The  weak  one  is  singled 
To  endure  what  it  once  possesst. 
228 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

O  Love !   who  bewailest 

The  frailty  of  all  things  here, 

Why  choose  you  the  frailest 

For  your  cradle,  your  home,  and  your  bier? 

Its  passions  will  rock  thee 

As  the  storms  rock  the  ravens  on  high ; 

Brig-ht  reason  will  mock  thee 

Like  the  sun  from  a  Avintry  sky. 

From  thy  nest  every  rafter 

Will  rot,  and  thine  eagle  home 

Leave  thee  naked  to  laughter. 

When  leaves  fall  and  cold  winds  come. 

P.  B.  Shelley 


cxcvi 
THE    MAID    OF    NEIDPATH 

O  LOVERS'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 
And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing; 
And  love,  in  life's  extremity. 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning, 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath's  tower 
To  watch  her  Love's  returning. 

All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright. 

Her  form  decay'd  by  pining. 
Till  through  her  wasted  hand,  at  night. 

You  saw  the  taper  shining. 
By  fits  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

Across  her  cheek  was  flying; 
By  fits  so  ashy  pale  she  grew 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 
229 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear 

Seem'd  in  her  frame  residing; 
Before  the  watch-dog  prick'd  his  ear 

She  heard  her  lover's  riding; 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  kenn'd 

She  knew  and  waved  to  greet  him, 
And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend 

As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

He  came  —  he  pass'd  —  an  heedless  gaze 

As  o'er  some  stranger  glancing; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase, 

Lost  in  his  courser's  prancing  — 
The  castle-arch,  whose  hollow  tone 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken, 
Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan 

Which  told  her  heart  was  broken. 

Sir  W,  Scott 


CXCVII 

THE    MAID    OF    NEIDPATH 

EARL  MARCH  look'd  on  his  dying  child, 
And,  smit  with  grief  to  view  her  — 
The  youth,  he  cried,  whom  I  exiled 
Shall  be  restored  to  woo  her. 

She  's  at  the  window  many  an  hour 

His  coming  to  discover: 
And  he  look'd  up  to  Ellen's  bower 

And  she  look'd  on  her  lover  — 

But  ah !  so  pale,  he  knew  her  not. 

Though  her  smile  on  him  was  dwelling ' — • 

And  am  I  then  forgot —  forgot.-^ 
It  broke  the  heart  of  Ellen. 
230 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

In  vain  he  weeps,  in  vain  he  sighs, 

Her  cheek  is  cold  as  ashes ; 
Nor  love's  own  kiss  shall  wake  those  eyes 

To  lift  their  silken  lashes. 

T.  Campbell, 


cxcvin 

BRIGHT  Star !  would  I  were  steadfast  as  thou  art 
Not  in  lone  splendour  hung  aloft  the  night, 
And  watching,  with  eternal  lids  apart. 
Like  Nature's  patient  sleepless  Eremite, 

The  moving  waters  at  their  priestlike  task 
Of  pure  ablution  round  earth's  human  shores, 
Or  gazing  on  the  new  soft  fallen  mask 
Of  snow  upon  the  mountains  and  the  moors :  — 

No  —  yet  still  steadfast,  still  unchangeable, 
Pillow'd  upon  my  fair  Love's  ripening  breast 
To  feel  for  ever  its  soft  fall  and  swell. 
Awake  for  ever  in  a  sweet  unrest ; 

Still,  still  to  hear  her  tender-taken  breath, 
And  so  live  ever,  —  or  else  swoon  to  death. 

J.  Keats 


cxcix 
THE    TERROR    OF    DEATH 

WHEN  I  have  fears  that  I  may  cease  to  be 
Before  my  pen  has  glean'd  my  teeming  brain, 
Before  high-piled  books,  in  charact'ry 
Hold  like  rich  gamers  the  full-ripen'd  grain ; 

231 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

When  I  behold,  upon  the  night's  starr'd  face, 
Huge  cloudy  symbols  of  a  high  romance, 
And  think  that  I  may  never  live  to  trace 
Their  shadows,  with  the  magic  hand  of  chance ; 

And  when  I  feel,  fair  Creature  of  an  hour ! 
That  I  shall  never  look  upon  thee  more, 
Never  have  relish  in  the  fairy  power 
Of  unreflecting  love  —  then  on  the  shore 

Of  the  wide  world  I  stand  alone,  and  think 
Till  Love  and  Fame  to  nothingness  do  sink. 

J.  Keats 


cc 
DESIDERIA 

SURPRIZED  by  joy  —  impatient  as  the  wind  — 
I  turn'd  to  share  the  transport  —  O  with  whom 
But  Thee  —  deep  buried  in  the  silent  tomb. 
That  spot  which  no  vicissitude  can  find? 

Love,  faithful  love  recall'd  thee  to  my  mind  — 
But  how  could  I  forget  thee?     Through  what  power 
Even  for  the  least  division  of  an  hour 
Have  I  been  so  beguiled  as  to  be  blind 

To  my  most  grievous  loss  —  That  thought's  return 
Was  the  worst  pang  that  sorrow  ever  bore 
Save  one,  one  only,  when  I  stood  forlorn. 

Knowing  my  heart's  best  treasure  was  no  more ; 
That  neither  present  time,  nor  years  unborn 
Could  to  my  sight  that  heavenly  face  restore. 

W.  Wordsworth 
232 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 


CCI 

AT  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when  stars  are  weeping,  I  fly 
To  the  lone  vale  we  loved,  when  life  shone  warm  in  thine 
eye; 
And  I  think  oft,  if  spirits  can  steal  from  the  regions  of  air 
To  revisit  past  scenes  of  delight,  thou  wilt  come  to  me  there 
And  tell  me  our  love  is  remember'd,  even  in  the  sky ! 

Then  I  sing  the  wild  song  it  once  was  rapture  to  hear 
When  our  voices,  commingling,  breathed  like  one  on  the  ear ; 
And  as  Echo  far  off  through  the  vale  my  sad  orison  rolls, 
I  think,  O  my  Love !  't  is  thy  voice,  from  the  Kingdom  of 

Souls 
Faintly  answering  still  the  notes  that  once  were  so  dear. 

T.  Moore 


ccn 
ELEGY    ON    THYKZA 

AND  thou  art  dead,  as  young  and  fair 
As  aught  of  mortal  birth; 
And  forms  so  soft  and  charms  so  rare 

Too  soon  return'd  to  Earth ! 
Though  Earth  received  them  in  her  bed, 
And  o'er  the  spot  the  crowd  may  tread 

In  carelessness  or  mirth, 
There  is  an  eye  which  could  not  brook 
A  moment  on  that  grave  to  look. 

I  will  not  ask  where  thou  liest  low 

Nor  gaze  upon  the  spot ; 
There  flowers  or  weeds  at  will  may  grow 

So  I  behold  them  not: 
233 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

It  is  enough  for  me  to  prove 

That  what  I  loved,  and  long  must  love 

Like  common  earth  can  rot ; 
To  me  there  needs  no  stone  to  tell 
'T  is  Nothing  that  I  loved  so  well. 

Yet  did  I  love  thee  to  the  last, 

As  fervently  as  thou 
Who  didst  not  change  through  all  the  past 

And  canst  not  alter  now. 
The  love  where  Death  has  set  his  seal 
Nor  age  can  chill,  nor  rival  steal, 

Nor  falsehood  disavow: 
And,  what  were  worse,  thou  canst  not  see 
Or  wrong,  or  change,  or  fault  in  me. 

The  better  days  of  life  were  ours ; 

The  worst  can  be  but  mine : 
The  sun  that  cheers,  the  storm  that  lours, 

Shall  never  more  be  thine. 
The  silence  of  that  dreamless  sleep 
I  envy  now  too  much  to  weep ; 

Nor  need  I  to  riepine 
That  all  those  charms  have  pass'd  away 
I  might  have  watch'd  through  long  decay. 

The  flower  in  ripen'd  bloom  unmatch'd 

Must  fall  the  earliest  prey; 
Though  by  no  hand  untimely  snatch'd, 

The  leaves  must  drop  away. 
And  yet  it  were  a  greater  grief 
To  watch  it  withering,  leaf  by  leaf. 

Than  see  it  pluck'd  to-day ; 
Since  earthly  eye  but  ill  can  bear 
To  trace  the  change  to  foul  from  fair. 
234 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

I  know  not  if  I  could  have  borne 

To  see  thy  beauties  fade ; 
The  night  that  follow'd  such  a  morn 

Had  worn  a  deeper  shade : 
Thy  day  without  a  cloud  hath  past, 
And  thou  wert  lovely  to  the  last, 

Extinguish'd,  not  decay'd; 
As  stars  that  shoot  along  the  sky 
Shine  brightest  as  they  fall  from  high. 

As  once  I  wept,  if  I  could  weep. 

My  tears  might  well  be  shed 
To  think  I  was  not  near,  to  keep 

One  vigil  o'er  thy  bed: 
To  gaze,  how  fondly !  on  thy  face, 
To  fold  thee  in  a  faint  embrace. 

Uphold  thy  drooping  head; 
And  show  that  love,  however  vain, 
Nor  thou  nor  I  can  feel  again. 

Yet  how  much  less  it  were  to  gain, 

Though  thou  hast  left  me  free. 
The  loveliest  things  that  still  remain 

Than  thus  remember  thee! 
The  all  of  thine  that  cannot  die 
Through  dark  and  dread  Eternity 

Returns  again  to  me, 
And  more  thy  buried  love  endears 
Than  aught  except  its  living  years. 

Lord  Byron 

ccm 

/^NE  word  is  too  often  profaned 
^^^   For  me  to  profane  it. 
One  feeling  too  falsely  disdain'd 
For  thee  to  disdain  it. 
235 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

One  hope  is  too  like  despair 

For  prudence  to  smother, 
And  Pity  from  thee  more  dear 

Than  that  from  another. 

I  can  give  not  what  men  call  love; 

But  wilt  thou  accept  not 
The  worship  the  heart  lifts  above 

And  the  Heavens  reject  not: 
The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star, 

Of  the  night  for  the  morrow. 
The  devotion  to  somethino;  afar 

From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow? 

P.  B.  Shelley 


ccrv 

GATHERING  SONG  OF  DONALD  THE 

BLACK 

PIBROCH  of  Donuil  Dhu 
Pibroch  of  Donuil 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

Summon  Clan  Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away. 
Hark  to  the  summons ! 
Come  in  your  war-array, 
Gentles  and  commons. 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky ; 
The  war-pipe  and  pennon 

Are  at  Inverlocky, 
Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

True  heart  that  wears  one, 
Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 
236 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Leave  untended  the  herd, 

The  flock  without  shelter ; 
Leave  the  corpse  unmterr'd, 

The  bride  at  the  altar ; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 

Leave  nets  and  barges : 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

Come  as  the  winds  come,  when 

Forests  are  rended, 
Come  as  the  waves  come,  when 

Navies  are  stranded : 
Faster  come,  faster  come, 

Faster  and  faster. 
Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom, 

Tenant  and  master. 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come ; 

See  how  they  gather ! 
Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  3^our  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 

Forward  each  man  set ! 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu 

Knell  for  the  onset ! 

Sir  W.  Scott 


ccv 

A  WET  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 
A  wind  that  follows  fast 
And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast ; 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys, 

"\j^hile  like  the  eagle  free 
Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 

Old  England  on  the  lee. 

O  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind ! 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze 

And  white  waves  heaving  high ; 
And  white  waves  heaving  high,  my  lads, 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free  — 
The  world  of  waters  is  our  home. 

And  merry  men  are  we. 

There  's  tempest  in  yon  homed  moon, 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud; 
But  hark  the  music,  mariners! 

The  wind  is  piping  loud ; 
The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys. 

The  lightning  flashes  free  — 
While  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  is. 

Our  heritage  the  sea. 

A.  Cunningham 


ccvi 

YE  Mariners  of  England 
That  guard  our  native  seas ! 
Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 
The  battle  and  the  breeze ! 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 
To  match  another  foe: 
And  sweep  through  the  deep. 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow; 
238 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave  — 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

And  Ocean  was  their  grave: 

Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 

As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks. 

No  towers  along  the  steep ; 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain-waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below  — 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore, 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow; 

When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn; 

Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean-warriors ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 

To  the  fame  of  your  name, 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow; 

When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more. 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

T.  Campbell 
239 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


ccvn 
BATTLE    OF    THE    BALTIC 

OF  Nelson  and  the  North 
Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 
When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 
All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 
And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone ; 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand 
In  a  bold  determined  hand, 
And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. 


Like  leviathans  afloat 

Lay  the  bulwarks  on  the  brine; 

While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  British  line : 

It  was  ten  of  April  mom  by  the  chime : 

As  they  drifted  on  their  path 

There  Avas  silence  deep  as  death ; 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 

For  a  time. 

But  the  might  of  England  flush'd 

To  anticipate  the  scene ; 

And  her  van  the  fleeter  rush'd 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 

'  Hearts  of  oak ! '  our  captains  cried,  when  each  gun 

From  its  adamantine  lips 

Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships. 

Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 

Of  the  sun. 

240 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Again !   again !   again ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 

Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back ;  — 

Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom :  — 

Then  ceased  —  and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shatter'd  sail ; 

Or  in  conflagration  pale 

Light  the  gloom. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then 

As  he  hail'd  them  o'er  the  wave, 

'  Ye  are  brothers !   ye  are  men ! 

And  we  conquer  but  to  save :  — 

So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring: 

But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet 

With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet, 

And  make  submission  meet 

To  our  King.' 

Then  Denmark  bless'd  our  chief  ^ 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose; 

And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 

From  her  people  wildly  rose. 

As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day : 

While  the  sun  look'd  smiling  bright 

O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight. 

Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 

Died  away. 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise! 
For  the  tidings  of  thy  might. 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 
Whilst  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light; 
And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 
241 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 
Full  many  a  fathom  deep 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore ! 


Brave  hearts !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 

On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died, 

With  the  gallant  good  Riou: 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  Heaven  o'er  their  grave! 

While  the  billow  mournful  rolls 

And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles 

Singing  glory  to  the  souls 

Of  the  brave! 

T.  Campbell 


ccvni 
ODE    TO    DUTY 

STERN  Daughter  of  the  voice  of  God ! 
O  Duty !  if  that  name  thou  love 
Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 
To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove ; 
Thou  who  art  victory  and  law 
When  empty  terrors  overawe; 
From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free, 
And  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity! 

There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them ;  who,  in  love  and  truth 
Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth: 

242 


/ 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Glad  hearts !  without  reproach  or  blot, 
Who  do  thy  work,  and  know  it  not: 
O !  if  through  confidence  misplaced 
They  fail,  thy  saving  arms,  dread  Power !  around  them  cast. 

Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright 
And  happy  will  our  nature  be 
When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 
And  joy  its  own  security. 
And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold 
Ev'n  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold. 
Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed ; 
Yet  find  that  other  strength  according  to  their  need. 

I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried, 
\     No  sport  of  every  random  gust. 

Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide. 

Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust: 

And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 

Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferr'd 

The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray ; 
But  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly,  if  I  may. 

Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul 
Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought, 
I  supplicate  for  thy  controul, 
But  in  the  quietness  of  thought : 
Me  this  uncharter'd  freedom  tires ; 
I  feel  the  weight  of  chance-desires : 
My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name ; 
I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same. 

Stern  lawgiver!    yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace ; 
Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face: 

243 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds, 
And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads ; 
Thou  dost  preserve  the  Stars  from  wrong ; 
And  the  most  ancient  Heavens,  through  thee,  are  fresh 
and  strong. 

To  humbler  functions,  awful  Power ! 
I  call  thee :   I  myself  commend 
Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour; 
O  let  my  weakness  have  an  end ! 
Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 
The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice ; 
The  confidence  of  reason  give ; 
And  in  the  light  of  Tnith  thy  bondman  let  me  live. 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccix 
ON    THE    CASTLE    OF    CHILLON 

ETERNAL  Spirit  of  the  chainless  Mind ! 
Brightest  in  dungeons,  Liberty,  thou  art,  — 
For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart  — 
The  heart  which  love  of  Thee  alone  can  bind ; 

And  when  thy  sons  to  fetters  are  consign'd. 
To  fetters,  and  the  damp  vault's  dayless  gloom, 
Their  country  conquers  with  their  martyrdom. 
And  Freedom's  fame  finds  wings  on  every  wind. 

Chillon !  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar,  for  't  was  trod. 

Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace 

Worn  as  if  thy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod. 
By  Bonnivard!    May  none  those  marks  efface! 
For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God. 

Lord  Byron 
244 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 


ccx 


ENGLAND    AND    SWITZERLAND,    1802 

TWO  Voices  are  there,  one  is  of  the  Sea, 
One  of  the  Mountains,  each  a  mighty  voice: 
In  both  from  age  to  age  thou  didst  rejoice. 
They  were  thy  chosen  music.  Liberty ! 

There  came  a  tyrant,  and  with  holy  glee 
Thou  f ought'st  against  him,  —  but  hast  vainly  striven : 
Thou  from  thy  Alpine  holds  at  length  art  driven 
Where  not  a  torrent  murmurs  heard  by  thee. 

—  Of  one  deep  bliss  thinq  ear  hath  been  bereft ; 
Then  cleave,  O  cleave  to  that  which  still  is  left  — 
For  high-soul'd  Maid,  what  sorrow  would  it  be 

That  Mountain  floods  should  thunder  as  before, 
And  Ocean  bellow  from  his  rocky  shore. 
And  neither  awful  Voice  be  heard  by  Thee ! 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccxi 


ON   THE    EXTINCTION    OF    THE   VENETIAN 

REPUBLIC 

ONCE  did  She  hold  the  gorgeous  East  in  fee 
And  was  the  safeguard  of  the  West ;   the  worth 
Of  Venice  did  not  fall  below  her  birth, 
Venice,  the  eldest  child  of  liberty. 

245 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

She  was  a  maiden  city,  bright  and  free; 
No  guile  seduced,  no  force  could  violate; 
And  when  she  took  unto  herself  a  mate, 
She  must  espouse  the  everlasting  Sea. 

And  what  if  she  had  seen  those  glories  fade, 
Those  titles  vanish,  and  that  strength  decay,  — 
Yet  shall  some  tribute  of  regret  be  paid 

When  her  long  life  hath  reach'd  its  final  day : 
Men  are  we,  and  must  grieve  when  even  the  shade 
Of  that  which  once  was  great  has  pass'd  away. 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccxn 
LONDON,    MDCCCII 

O  FRIEND !  I  know  not  which  way  I  must  look 
For  comfort,  being,  as  I  am,  opprest 
To  think  that  now  our  life  is  only  drest 
For  show ;  mean  handi-work  of  craftsman,  cook, 

Or  groom!  —  We  must  run  glittering  like  a  brook 
In  the  open  sunshine,  or  we  are  unblest ; 
The  wealthiest  man  among  us  is  the  best : 
No  grandeur  now  in  nature  or  in  book 

Delights  us.     Rapine,  avarice,  expense, 

This  is  idolatry ;    and  these  we  adore : 

Plain  living  and  high  thinking  are  no  more: 

The  homely  beauty  of  the  good  old  cause 
Is  gone ;    our  peace,  our  fearful  innocence. 
And  pure  religion  breathing  household  laws. 

W.  Wordsworth 
246 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 


ccxin 
THE    SAME 

MILTON !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour ; 
England  hath  need  of  thee :   she  is  a  fen 
Of  stagnant  waters:    altar,  sword,  and  pen, 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 

Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 
Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men : 
O !    raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  ; 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  Star,  and  dwelt  apart : 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea, 
Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free; 

So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way 
In  cheerful  godliness ;  and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccxiv 

"1^ /"HEN  I  have  borne  in  memory  what  has  tamed 

»    »      Great  nations  ;   how  ennobling  thoughts  depart 
When  men  change  swords  for  ledgers,  and  desert 
The  student's  bower  for  gold,  —  some  fears  unnamed 

I  had,  my  Country !  —  am  I  to  be  blamed.? 
Now,  when  I  think  of  thee,  and  what  thou  art, 
Verily,  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
Of  those  unfilial  fears  I  am  ashamed, 

247 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

For  dearly  must  we  prize  thee ;   we  who  find 
In  thee  a  bulwark  for  the  cause  of  men ; 
And  I  by  my  affection  was  beguiled: 

What  wonder  if  a  Poet  now  and  then, 
Among  the  many  movements  of  his  mind, 
Felt  for  thee  as  a  lover  or  a  child ! 

W.  Wordsworth 

ccxv 


HOHENLINDEN 

ON  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow ; 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight. 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array'd 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven ; 
Then  rush'd  the  steed,  to  battle  driven ; 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven 
Far  flash'd  the  red  artillery. 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow; 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iscr,  rolling  rapidly. 
MS 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

'T  is  morn ;    but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 


The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  Brave 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave ! 
Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry ! 

Few,  few  shall  part,  where  many  meet ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet. 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 

T.  Campbell 


CCXVI 

AFTER    BLENHEIM 

IT  was  a  summer  evening. 
Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 
And  he  before  his  cottage  door 

Was  sitting  in  the  sun ; 
And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 
His  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine. 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 
Roll  something  large  and  round 

Which  he  beside  the  rivulet 
In  playing  there  had  found ; 

He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found 

That  was  so  large  and  smooth  and  round. 
249 


i  > 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy 
Who  stood  expectant  by; 

And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 
And  with  a  natural  sigh 
T  is  some  poor  fellow's  skull,'  said  he, 
Who  fell  in  the  great  victory. 


'  I  find  them  in  the  garden, 
For  there  's  many  here  about ; 

And  often  when  I  go  to  plough 
The  ploughshare  turns  them  out. 

For  many  thousand  men,'  said  he, 

'  Were  slain  in  that  great  victory.' 

'  Now  tell  us  what  't  was  all  about,' 

Young  Peterkin  he  cries ; 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes ; 
'  Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war. 
And  what  they  fought  each  other  for.' 

'  It  was  the  English,'  Kaspar  cried, 
'  Who  put  the  French  to  rout ; 

But  what  they  fought  each  other  for 
I  could  not  well  make  out. 

But  every  body  said,'  quoth  he, 

'  That  't  was  a  famous  \'ictory. 

*  My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then, 
Yon  little  stream  hard  by ; 

They  burnt  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 
And  he  was  forced  to  fly: 

So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled. 

Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 
250 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

'  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide, 
And  many  a  childing  mother  then 

And  newborn  baby  died: 
But  things  hke  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory. 

'  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 

After  the  field  was  won ; 
For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun : 
But  things  hke  that,  you  know,  must  be 
After  a  famous  victory. 

*  Great  praise  the  Duke  of  IMarlbro'  won. 

And  our  good  Prince  Eugene ; ' 
'  Why,  't  was  a  very  wicked  thing ! ' 
Said  httle  Wilhelminc ; 

*  Nay  .   .  nay  .   .  my  Httle  girl,'  quoth  he, 

*  It  was  a  famous  victory,  . 

*  And  every  body  praised  the  Duke 

Who  this  great  fight  did  win.' 
'  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last?  ' 
Quoth  little  Peterkin  :  — 

*  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,'  said  he, 
'  But  't  was  a  famous  victory.' 

R.    SOUTHEY 


C  ex  VII 

PRO    PATRIA    INIORI 

WHFN  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  but  the  name 
Of  his  fault  and  his  sorrows  behind, 
O !   say  wilt  thou  weep,  when  they  darken  the  fame 
Of  I  life  that  for  thee  was  resiffn'd! 

251 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Yes,  weep,  and  however  my  foes  may  condemn, 

Thy  tears  shall  efface  their  decree; 
For,  Heaven  can  witness,  though  guilty  to  them, 

I  have  been  but  too  faithful  to  thee. 

With  thee  were  the  dreams  of  my  earliest  love ; 

Every  thought  of  my  reason  was  thine : 
In  my  last  humble  prayer  to  the  Spirit  above 

Thy  name  shall  be  mingled  with  mine ! 
O !  blest  are  the  lovers  and  friends  who  shall  live 

The  days  of  thy  glory  to  see; 
But  the  next  dearest  blessing  that  Heaven  can  give 

Is  the  pride  of  thus  dying  for  thee. 

T.  Moore 


ccxvra 

THE    BURIAL    OF    SIR    JOHN    MOORE 
AT    CORUNNA 

NOT  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note. 
As  his  corpse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried ; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 
The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning; 

By  the  struggling  moonbeams'  misty  light 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast. 

Not  in  sheet  or  in  shroud  we  wound  him* 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest. 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

252 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow ; 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  was  dead, 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought,  as  we  hollow'd  his  narrow  bed 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow. 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  head, 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow ! 

Lightly  they  '11  talk  of  the  spirit  that 's  gone 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him,  — 

But  little  he  '11  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring: 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory ; 

We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone. 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

C.  Wolfe 


ccxrx 

SIMON    LEE    THE    OLD    HUNTSIMAN 

TN  the  sweet  shire  of  Cardigan, 

■*■    Not  far  from  pleasant  Ivor  Hall, 

An  old  man  dwells,  a  little  man, 

I  've  heard  he  once  was  tall. 

253 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Full  five-and-thirty  years  he  lived 
A  running  huntsman  merry ; 
And  still  the  centre  of  his  cheek 
'     Is  red  as  a  ripe  cherry. 

No  man  like  him  the  horn  could  sound, 
And  liill  and  valley  rang  with  glee, 
When  Echo  bandied,  round  and  round, 
The  halloo  of  Simon  Lee. 
In  those  proud  days  he  little  cared 
For  husbandry  or  tillage ; 
To  blither  tasks  did  Simon  rouse 
'    The  sleepers  of  the  village. 

He  all  the  country  could  outrun, 
I    Could  leave  both  nian  and  horse  behind ; 
And  often,  ere  the  chase  was  done. 
He  reel'd  and  was  stone-blind. 
And  still  there  's  something  in  the  world 
At  which  his  heart  rejoices; 
For  when  the  chiming  hounds  are  out, 
He  dearly  loves  their  voices. 

But  O  the  heavy  change !  —  bereft 

Of  health,  strength,  friends,  and  kindred,  see 

Old  Simon  to  the  world  is  left 

In  liveried  poverty : 
>    His  master  's  dead,  and  no  one  now 
)     Dwells  in  the  Hall  of  Ivor; 

Men,  dogs,  and  horses,  all  are  dead ; 

He  is  the  sole  survivor. 

And  he  is  lean  and  he  is  sick. 
His  body,  dwindled  and  awry. 
Rests  upon  ankles  swoln  and  thick; 
His  legs  are  thin  and  dry. 

254 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

He  has  no  son,  he  has  no  child, 
His  wife,  an  aged  woman. 
Lives  with  him,  near  the  waterfall, 
Upon  the  village  common. 

Beside  their  moss-grown  hut  of  clay, 
Not  twenty  paces  from  the  door, 
A  scrap  of  land  they  have,  but  they 
Are  poorest  of  the  poor. 
This  scrap  of  land  he  from  the  heath 
Enclosed  when  he  was  stronger; 
But  what  avails  the  land  to  them 
Which  he  can  till  no  longer.'' 

Oft,  working  by  her  husband's  side, 
Ruth  does  what  Simon  cannot  do ; 
For  she,  with  scanty  cause  for  pride, 
Is  stouter  of  the  two. 
And,  though  you  with  your  utmost  skill 
From  labour  could  not  wean  them, 
'T  is  little,  very  little,  all 
That  they  can  do  between  them. 

Few  months  of  life  has  he  in  store 

As  he  to  you  will  tell. 

For  still,  the  more  he  works,  the  more 

Do  his  weak  ankles  swell. 

My  gentle  reader,  I  perceive 

How  patiently  you  've  waited, 

And  now  I  fear  that  you  expect 

Some  tale  will  be  related. 

O  reader !   had  you  in  your  mind 
Such  stores  as  silent  thought  can  bring, 
O  gentle  reader!    you  would  find 
A  talc  In  everything. 

255 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

What  more  I  have  to  say  is  short, 
And  you  must  kindly  take  it : 
It  is  no  tale ;   but,  should  you  think, 
Perhaps  a  tale  you  '11  make  it. 

One  summer-day  I  chanced  to  see 
This  old  man  doing  all  he  could 
To  unearth  the  root  of  an  old  tree, 
A  stump  of  rotten  wood. 
The  mattock  totter'd  in  his  hand ; 
So  vain  was  his  endeavour 
That  at  the  root  of  the  old  tree 
He  might  have  work'd  for  ever. 

'  You  're  overtask'd,  good  Simon  Lee, 

Give  me  your  tool,'  to  him  I  said ; 

And  at  the  word  right  gladly  he 

Received  my  prolTer'd  aid. 

I  struck,  and  with  a  single  blow 

The  tangled  root  I  sever'd. 

At  which  the  poor  old  man  so  long 

And  vainly  had  endeavour'd. 

The  tears  into  his  eyes'  were  brought. 
And  thanks  and  praises  seem'd  to  run 
So  fast  out  of  his  heart,  I  thought 
They  never  would  have  done. 
—  I  've  heard  of  hearts  unkind,  kind  deeds 
With  coldness  still  returning; 
Alas !    the  gratitude  of  men 
Hath  oftener  left  me  mourning. 

W.    WOEDSWOETH 


256 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

ccxx 

THE    OLD    FAMILIAR    FACES 

T   HAVE  had  playmates,  I  have  had  companions 

•*•    In  my  days  of  childhood,  in  my  joyful  school-days ; 

All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  have  been  laughing,  I  have  been  carousing. 
Drinking  late,  sitting  late,  with  my  bosom  cronies ; 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  loved  a  Love  once,  fairest  among  women : 
Closed  are  her  doors  on  me,  I  must  not  see  her  — • 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  have  a  friend,  a  kinder  friend  has  no  man: 
Like  an  ingrate,  I  left  my  friend  abruptly ; 
Left  him,  to  muse  on  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Ghost-like  I  paced  round  the  haunts  of  my  childhood. 
Earth  seem'd  a  desert  I  was  bound  to  traverse, 
Seeking  to  find  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Friend  of  my  bosom,  thou  more  than  a  brother. 
Why  wert  not  thou  born  in  my  father's  dwelling? 
So  might  we  talk  of  the  old  familiar  faces, 

How  some  they  have  died,  and  some  they  have  left  me, 
And  some  are  taken  from  me ;   all  are  departed ; 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

C.  Lamb 


25T 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

CCXXI 

THE    JOURNEY    ONWARDS 

AS  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 
Against  the  wind  was  cleaving, 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  look'd  back 

To  that  dear  isle  't  was  leaving. 
So  loth  we  part  from  all  we  love, 
From  all  the  links  that  bind  us ; 
So  turn  our  hearts,  as  on  we  rove, 
To  those  we  've  left  behind  us  ! 

When,  round  the  bowl,  of  vanish'd  years 

We  talk  with  joyous  seeming  — 
With  smiles  that  might  as  well  be  tears, 

So  faint,  so  sad  their  beaming ; 
While  memory  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twined  us, 
O,  sweet  's  the  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us ! 

And  when,  in  other  climes,  we  meet 

Some  isle  or  vale  enchanting, 
Where  all  looks  flowery,  wild  and  sweet, 

And  nought  but  love  is  wanting ; 
We  think  how  great  had  been  our  bliss 

If  Heaven  had  but  assign'd  us 
To  live  and  die  in  scenes  like  this. 

With  some  we  've  left  behind  us ! 

As  travellers  oft  look  back  at  eve 

When  eastward  darkly  going, 
To  gaze  upon  that  light  they  leave 

Still  faint  behind  them  glowing,  — 
258 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

So,  when  the  close  of  pleasure's  day 
To  gloom  hath  near  consign'd  us, 

We  turn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 
Of  joy  that 's  left  behind  us. 

T.   MOOBE 


ccxxn 

YOUTH    AND    AGE 

fTHHERE  'S  not  a  joy  the  world  can  give  like  that  it  takes  away 

A     When  the  glow  of  early  thought  declines  in  feeling's  dull  decay; 
'T  is  not  on  youth's  smooth  cheek  the  blush  alone,  which  fades  so  fast. 
But  the  tender  bloom  of  heart  is  gone,  ere  youth  itself  be  past. 

Then  the  few  whose  spirits  float  above  the  wreck  of  happiness 
Are  driven  o'er  the  shoals  of  guilt,  or  ocean  of  excess : 
The  magnet  of  their  course  is  gone,  or  only  points  in  vain 
The  shore  to  which  their  shiver'd  sail  shall  never  stretch  again. 

Then  the  mortal  coldness  of  the  soul  like  death  itself  comes  down ; 
It  cannot  feel  for  others'  woes,  it  dare  not  dream  its  own; 
That  heavy  chill  has  frozen  o'er  the  fountain  of  our  tears, 
And  though  the  eye  may  sparkle  still,  't  is  Avhere  the  ice  appears. 

Though  wit  may  flash  from  fluent  lips,  and  mirth  distract  the  breast. 
Through  midnight  hours  that  yield  no  more  their  former  hope  of  rest ; 
'T  is  but  as  ivy-leaves  around  the  ruin'd  turret  wreathe. 
All  green  and  wildly  fresh  without,  but  worn  and  gray  beneath. 

O  could  I  feel  as  I  have  felt,  or  be  what  I  have  been, 
Or  weep  as  I  could  once  have  wept  o'er  many  a  vanish'd  scene,  — • 
As  springs  in  deserts  found  seem  sweet,  all  brackish  though  they  be, 
So  midst  the  wither'd  waste  of  life,  those  tears  would  flow  to  me! 

Lord  Byron 
259 


^/  • 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


ccxxin 
A    LESSON 

THERE  is  a  flower,  the  Lesser  Celandine, 
That  shrinks  hke  many  more  from  cold  and  rain. 
And  the  first  moment  that  the  sun  may  shine, 
Bright  as  the  sun  himself,  't  is  out  again ! 

When  hailstones  have  been  falling,  swarm  on  swarm. 
Or  blasts  the  green  field  and  the  trees  distrest. 
Oft  have  I  seen  it  muffled  up  from  harm 
In  close  self-shelter,  like  a  thing  at  rest. 

But  lately,  one  rough  day,  this  flower  I  past. 
And  recognized  it,  though  an  alter'd  form, 
Now  standing  forth  an  off"ering  to  the  blast, 
And  bufl'eted  at  will  by  rain  and  storm. 

I  stopp'd  and  said,  with  inly-mutter'd  voice, 
'  It  doth  not  love  the  shower,  nor  seek  the  cold ; 
This  neither  is  its  courage  nor  its  choice. 
But  its  necessity  in  being  old. 

'  The  sunshine  may  not  cheer  it,  nor  the  dew ; 
It  cannot  help  itself  in  its  decay ; 
Stiff*  in  its  members,  wither'd,  changed  of  hue,'  — 
And,  in  my  spleen,  I  smiled  that  it  was  gray. 

To  be  a  prodigal's  favourite  —  then,  worse  truth, 
A  miser's  pensioner  —  behold  our  lot ! 
O  Man !    that  from  thy  fair  and  shining  youth 
Age  might  but  take  the  things  Youth  needed  not ! 

W.  Wordsworth 


260 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

CCXXIV 

PAST    AND    PRESENT 

I   REMEMBER,  I  remember 
The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon 
Nor  brought  too  long  a  day ; 
But  now,  I  often  wish  the  night 
Had  borne  my  breath  away. 

I  remember,  I  remember 

The  roses,  red  and  white. 

The  violets,  and  the  lily-cups  — 

Those  flowers  made  of  liffht! 

The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built, 

And  where  my  brother  set 

The  laburnum  on  his  birthday,  — -- 

The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing. 

And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing ; 

My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 

And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow. 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  fir-trees  dark  and  high ; 
I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 
Were  close  against  the  sky: 
261 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  't  is  little  joy 

To  know  I  'm  farther  off  from  Heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 

T.  Hood 


ccxxv 
THE    LIGHT    OF    OTHER    DAYS 

OFT  in  the  stilly  night 
Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me : 
The  smiles,  the  tears 
Of  boyhood's  years, 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken; 
The  eyes  that  shone, 
Now  dimm'd  and  gone. 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  so  link'd  together 
I  've  seen  around  me  fall 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather, 
I  feel  like  one 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted. 
Whose  lights  are  fled 
Whose  garlands  dead. 
And  all  but  he  departed ! 
262 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 

Of  other  days  around  me. 

T.    MOOBE 


ccxxvi 
INVOCATION 

RARELY,  rarely  comest  thou, 
Spirit  of  Delight! 
Wherefore  hast  thou  left  me  now 

Many  a  day  and  night? 
Many  a  weary  night  and  day 
'T  is  since  thou  art  fled  away. 

How  shall  ever  one  like  me 

Win  thee  back  again? 
With  the  joyous  and  the  free 

Thou  wilt  scoff  at  pain. 
Spirit  false !   thou  hast  forgot 
All  but  those  who  need  thee  not. 

As  a  lizard  with  the  shade 

Of  a  trembling  leaf, 
Thou  with  sorrow  art  dismay'd ; 

Even  the  sighs  of  grief 
Reproach  thee,  that  thou  art  not  near. 
And  reproach  thou  wilt  not  hear. 

Let  me  set  my  mournful  ditty 

To  a  merry  measure  ;  — 
Thou  wilt  never  come  for  pity. 

Thou  wilt  come  for  pleasure ;  — 
Pity  thou  wilt  cut  away 
Those  cruel  wings,  and  thou  wilt  stay. 
263 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

I  love  all  that  thou  lovest, 

Spirit  of  Delight! 
The  fresh  Earth  in  new  leaves  drest 

And  the  starry  night; 
Autumn  evening,  and  the  morn 
When  the  golden  mists  are  born. 

I  love  snow  and  all  the  forms 

Of  the  radiant  frost ; 
I  love  waves,  and  winds,  and  storms, 

Everything  almost 
Which  is  Nature's,  and  may  be 
Untainted  by  man's  misery. 

I  love  tranquil   solitude. 

And  such  society 
As  is  quiet,  wise,  and  good; 

Between  thee  and  me 
What  diff'rence?  but  thou  dost  possess 
The  things  I  seek,  nor  love  them  less. 

I  love  Love  —  though  he  has  wings. 

And  like  light  can  flee. 
But  above  all  other  things, 

Spirit,  I  love  thee  — 
Thou  art  love  and  life!     O  come! 
Make  once  more  my  heart  thy  home ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


ccxxvn 

4i  STANZAS    WRITTEN    IN    DEJECTION 

^"^  NEAR    NAPLES 


THE  sun  is  warm,  the  sky.  is  clear, 
The  waves  are  dancing  fast  and  bright, 
Blue  isles  and  snowy  mountains  wear 
The  purple  noon's  transparent  light : 

264 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

The  breath  of  the  moist  earth  is  light 
Around  its  unexpanded  buds  ; 
Like  many  a  voice  of  one  dehght  — 
The  winds',  the  birds',  the  ocean-floods'  — 
The  City's  voice  itself  is  soft  like  Solitude's. 

I  see  the  Deep's  untrampled  floor  ' 

With  green  and  purple  sea-weeds  strown ; 
I  see  the  waves  upon  the  shore 
Like  hght  dissolved  in  star-showers  thrown: 
I  sit  upon  the  sands  alone ; 
The  lightning  of  the  noon-tide  ocean 
Is  flashing  round  me,  and  a  tone 
Arises  from  its  measured  motion  — 
How  sweet !  did  any  heart  now  share  in  my  emotion. 

Alas  !   I  have  nor  hope  nor  health. 
Nor  peace  within  nor  calm  around. 
Nor  that  Content,  surpassing  wealth, 
The  sage  in  meditation  found. 
And  walk'd  with  inward  glory  crown'd  — 
Nor  fame,  nor  power,  nor  love,  nor  leisure ; 
Others  I  see  whom  these  surround  — 
Smiling  they  live,  and  call  life  pleasure ; 
To  me  that  cup  has  been  dealt  in  another  measure. 

Yet  now  despair  itself  is  mild 
Even  as  the  winds  and  waters  are ; 
I  could  lie  down  like  a  tired  child. 
And  weep  away  the  life  of  care 
Which  I  have  borne,  and  yet  must  bear. 
Till  death  like  sleep  might  steal  on  me. 
And  I  might  feel  in  the  warm  air 
My  cheek  grow  cold,  and  hear  the  sea 
Breathe  o'er  my  dying  brain  its  last  monotony. 

P.  B.  Shelley 
265 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


CCXXVIU 

THE    SCHOLAR 

MY  days  among  the  Dead  are  past; 
Around  me  I  behold, 
Where'er  these  casual  eyes  are  cast, 
The  mighty  minds  of  old: 
My  never-failing  friends  are  they. 
With  whom  I  converse  day  by  day. 

With  them  I  take  delight  in  weal 

And  seek  relief  in  woe ; 

And  while  I  understand  and  feel 

How  much  to  them  I  owe, 

My  cheeks  have  often  been  bedew'd 

With  tears  of  thoughtful  gratitude. 

^ly  thoughts  are  with  the  Dead ;   with  them 

I  live  in  long-past  years. 

Their  virtues  love,  their  faults  condemn. 

Partake  their  hopes  and  fears. 

And  from  their  lessons  seek  and  find 

Instruction  with  an  humble  mind. 

My  hopes  are  with  the  Dead  ;   anon 
My  place  with  them  will  be. 
And  I  with  them  shall  travel  on 
Through  all  Futurity ; 
Yet  leaving  here  a  name,  I  trust, 
That  will  not  perish  in  the  dust. 

R.    SOUTHEY 


^66 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

CCXXIX 

THE    MERMAID    TAVERN 

SOULS  of  Poets  dead  and  gone, 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern, 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  Tavern? 
Have  ye  tippled  drink  more  fine 
Than  mine  host's  Canary  wine? 
Or  are  fruits  of  Paradise 
Sweeter  than  those  dainty  pies 
Of  Venison?     O  generous  food! 
Drest  as  thou^ch  bold  Robin  Hood 
Would,  with  his  Maid  Marian, 
Sup  and  bowse  from  horn  and  can. 

I  have  heard  that  on  a  day 
Mine  host's  sign-board  flew  away 
Nobody  knew  whither,  till 
An  astrologer's  old  quill 
To  a  sheepskin  gave  the  story  — 
Said  he  saw  you  in  your  glory 
Underneath  a  new-old  Sign 
Sipping  beverage  divine. 
And  pledging  with  contented  smack 
The  Mermaid  in  the  Zodiac ! 

Souls  of  Poets  dead  and  gone. 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known  — 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern  — 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  Tavern? 

J.  Keats 


267 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

ccxxx 
THE    PRIDE    OF    YOUTH 

PROUD  Malsie  is  in  the  wood, 
Walldng  so  early ; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush 
Singing  so  rarely. 

'  Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird, 
When  shall  I  marry  me?  ' 

—  '  When  six  braw  gentlemen 
Kirkward  shall  carry  ye.' 

*  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 
Birdie,  say  truly?  ' 

—  '  The  gray-headed  sexton 
That  delves  the  grave  duly. 

'  The  glowworm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  light  thee  steady ; 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing. 

Welcome,  proud  lady.' 

Sir  W.  Scott 


CCXXXI 

THE    BRIDGE    OF    SIGHS 

ONE  more  Unfortunate 
Weary  of  breath 
Rashly  importunate. 
Gone  to  her  death! 
268 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 
Lift  her  with  care ; 
Fashion'd  so  slenderly. 
Young,  and  so  fair! 

Look  at  her  garments 
Clinging  like  cerements ; 
Whilst  the  wave  constantly 
Drips  from  her  clothing; 
Take  her  up  instantly. 
Loving,  not  loathing. 

Touch  her  not  scornfully ; 
Think  of  her  mournfully. 
Gently  and  humanly ; 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her  — i 
All  that  remains  of  her 
Now  is  pure  womanly. 

Make  no  deep  scrutiny 
Into  her  mutiny 
Rash  and  undutiful: 
Past  all  dishonour, 
Death  has  left  on  her 
Only  the  beautiful. 

Still,  for  all  slips  of  hers, 
One  of  Eve's  family  — 
Wipe  those  poor  lips  of  hers 
Oozing  so  clammily. 

Loop  up  her  tresses 
Escaped  from  the  comb, 
Her  fair  auburn  tresses  ; 
Whilst  wonderment  guesses 
Where  was  her  home.'' 
269 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Who  was  her  father? 
Who  was  her  mother? 
Had  she  a  sister? 
Had  she  a  brother? 
Or  was  there  a  dearer  one 
Still,  and  a  nearer  one 
Yet,  than  all  other? 

Alas  !    for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 
Under  the  sun ! 
O  !    it  was  pitiful ! 
Near  a  whole  city  full, 
Home  she  had  none. 

Sisterl}^,  brotherly. 
Fatherly,  motherly 
Feelings  had  changed: 
Love,  by  harsh  evidence, 
Thrown  from  its  eminence ; 
Even  God's  providence 
Seeming  estranged. 

Where  the  lamps  quiver 
So  far  in  the  river, 
With  many  a  light 
From  window  and  casement, 
From  garret  to  basement, 
She  stood,  with  amazement, 
f   Houseless  by  night. 

The  bleak  wind  of  March 
Made  her  tremble  and  shiver ; 
But  not  the  dark  arch. 
Or  tlie  black  flowing  river: 
270 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Mad  from  life's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery 
^  Swift  to  be  hurl'd  — 
Any  where,  any  where 
Out  of  the  world! 

In  she  plunged  boldl}^, 
[   No  matter  how  coldly 

The  rough  river  ran, 

Over  the  brink  of  it,  — 

Picture  it,  think  of  it, 

Dissolute  Man ! 
I    Lave  in  it,  drink  of  it, 
I    Then,  if  you  can ! 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 
Lift  her  with  care ; 
Fashion'd  so  slenderly, 
Young,  and  so  fair ! 

Ere  her  limbs  frigidly 
Stiffen  too  rigidly. 
Decently,  kindly. 
Smooth  and  compose  them ; 
And  her  eyes,  close  them. 
Staring  so  blindly ! 

Dreadfully  staring 
Thro'  muddy  impurity. 
As  when  with  the  daring 
Last  look  of  despairing 
Fix'd  on  futurity. 

Perishing  gloomily, 
Spurr'd  by  contumely. 
Cold  inhumanity, 
Burning  insanity, 
271 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Into  her  rest. 

—  Cross  her  hands  humbly 
As  if  praying  dumbly, 
Over  her  breast! 

Owning  her  weakness, 
Her  evil  behaviour. 
And  leaving,  with  meekness. 
Her  sins  to  her  Saviour. 

T.  Hood 


ccxxxn 
ELEGY 

OSNATCH'D  away  in  beauty's  bloom ! 
On  thee  shall  press  no  ponderous  tomb ; 
But  on  thy  turf  shall  roses  rear 
Their  leaves,  the  earliest  of  the  year,        .r 
And  the  wild  cypress  wave  in  tender  gloom : 

And  oft  by  yon  blue  gushing  stream 
Shall  Sorrow  lean  her  drooping  head, 
And  feed  deep  thought  with  many  a  dream. 
And  lingering  pause  and  lightly  tread ; 
Fond  wretch !   as  if  her  step  disturb'd  the  dead. 

Away !   we  know  that  tears  are  vain. 
That  Death  nor  heeds  nor  hears  distress ; 
Will  this  unteach  us  to  complain? 
Or  make  one  mourner  weep  the  less.'' 
And  thou,  who  tell'st  me  to  forget, 
'  Thy  looks  are  wan,  thine  eyes  are  wet. 

Lord  Byron 


272 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

ccxxxm 
HESTER 

WHEN  maidens  such  as  Hester  die 
Their  place  ye  may  not  well  supply, 
Though  ye  among  a  thousand  try 

With  vain  endeavour. 
A  month  or  more  hath  she  been  dead, 
Yet  cannot  I  by  force  be  led 
To  think  upon  the  wormy  bed 
And  her  together. 

A  springy  motion  in  her  gait, 

A  rising  step,  did  indicate 

Of  pride  and  joy  no  common  rate 

That  flush'd  her  spirit: 
I  know  not  by  what  name  beside 
I  shall  it  call :    if  't  was  not  pride, 
It  was  a  joy  to  that  allied 

She  did  inherit. 

Her  parents  held  the  Quaker  rule, 
Which  doth  the  human  feeling  cool ; 
But  she  was  train'd  in  Nature's  school, 

Nature  had  blest  her. 
'  A  waking  eye,  a  prying  mind, 
A  heart  that  stirs,  is  hard  to  bind ;    * 
A  hawk's  keen  sight  ye  cannot  blind, 

Ye  could  not  Hester. 

My  sprightly  neighbour!  gone  before 
To  that  unknown  and  silent  shore. 
Shall  we  not  meet,  as  heretofore 

/   Some  summer  morning  — 
273 


THE     GOLDEN     TKEASURY 

When  from  thy  cheerful  eyes  a  ray 
Hath  struck  a  bhss  upon  the  day, 
A  bliss  that  would  not  go  away, 
A  sweet  fore-warning? 

C.  Lamb 


ccxxxiv 
CORONACH 

HE  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 
He  is  lost  to  the  forest, 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain. 
When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
,   The  font  reappearing 

From  the  raindrops  shall  borrow, 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 
To  Duncan  no  morrow ! 

The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Wails  manhood  in  glory. 
The  autumn  winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  serest, 
^  But  our  flower  was  in  flushing 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi. 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber, 
Red  hand  in  the  foray, 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber! 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain. 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain, 

Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever ! 

Sir  W.  Scott 
274 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

ccxxxv 
THE    DEATH    BED 

WE  watch'd  her  breathing  thro'  the  night, 
Her  breathing  soft  and  low, 
As  in  her  breast  the  wave  of  life 
Kept  heaving  to  and  fro. 

But  when  the  morn  came  dim  and  sad  "i  ^^i*^ 

And  chill  with  early  showers,  ^' 

Her  quiet  eyelids  closed  —  she  had 
Another  morn  than  ours. 

T.  Hood 


CCXXXVI 

ROSABELLE 

O  LISTEN,  listen,  ladies  gay ! 
No  haughty  feat  of  arms  I  tell; 
Sofb  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay 
That  mourns  the  lovely  Rosabelle. 

'  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew ! 

And,  gentle  lady,  deign  to  stay! 
Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravensheuch, 

Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 

'  The  blackening  wave  is  edged  with  white ; 

To  inch  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly ; 
The  fishers  have  heard  the  Water-Sprite, 

Whose  screams  forebode  that  wreck  is  nigli. 

275 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

'  Last  night  the  gifted  Seer  did  view 

A  wet  shroud  swathed  round  ladye  gay ; 

Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch ; 
Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  ?  ' 

'  'T  is  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 
To-night  at  RosHn  leads  the  ball, 

But  that  my  lady-mother  there 
Sits  lonely  in  her  castle-hall. 

*  'T  is  not  because  the  ring  they  ride. 
And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well, 

But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide 
If  't  is  not  filPd  by  Rosabelle.' 

—  O'er  Roslin  all  that  dreary  night 
A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam ; 

'T  was  broader  than  the  watch-fire's  light, 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moonbeam. 

It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock. 
It  ruddied  all  the  copse-wood  glen ; 

'T  was  seen  from  Dryden's  groves  of  oak. 
And  seen  from  cavern'd  Hawthomden. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud 
Where  Roslin's  chiefs  uncoffin'd  lie. 

Each  Baron,  for  a  sable  shroud, 
Sheathed  in  his  iron  panoply. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud 

Deep  sacristy  and  altar's  pale ; 
Shone  every  pillar  foliage-bound. 

And  glimmer'd  all  the  dead  men's  mail. 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  high. 

Blazed  every  rose-carved  buttress  fair  — 

So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  line  of  high  Saint  Clair. 

276 


SONGS     AND    LYRICS 

There  are  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle ; 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle ! 

And  each  Saint  Clair  was  buried  there 

With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  shell; 

But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds  sung 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle. 

Sir  W.  Scott 


CCXXXVII 

ON    AN    INFANT    DYING    AS    SOON    AS    BORN 

I    SAW  where  in  the  shroud  did  lurk 
A  curious  frame  of  Nature's  work; 
A  flow'ret  crushed  in  the  bud, 
A  nameless  piece  of  Babyhood, 
Was  in  her  cradle-coffin  lying; 
Extinct,  with  scarce  the  sense  of  dying: 
So  soon  to  exchange  the  imprisoning  womb 
For  darker  closets  of  the  tomb ! 
She  did  but  ope  an  eye,  and  put 
A  clear  beam  forth,  then  straight  up  shut 
For  the  long  dark :  ne'er  more  to  see 
Through  glasses  of  mortalit3^ 
Riddle  of  destiny,  who  can  show 
What  thy  short  visit  meant,  or  know 
What  thy  errand  here  below? 
Shall  we  say,  that  Nature  blind 
Check'd  her  hand,  and  changed  her  mind 
Just  when  she  had  exactly  wrought 
A  finish'd  pattern  without  fault? 
Could  she  flag,  or  could  she  tire. 
Or  lack'd  she  the  Promethean  fire 

277 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

(With  her  nine  moons'  long  workings  sicken'd) 

That  should  thy  little  limbs  have  quicken'd? 

Limbs  so  firm,  they  seem'd  to  assure 

Life  of  health,  and  days  mature : 

Woman's  self  in  miniature ! 

Limbs  so  fair,  they  might  supply 

(Themselves  now  but  cold  imagery) 

The  sculptor  to  make  Beauty  by. 

Or  did  the  stern-eyed  Fate  descry 

That  babe  or  mother,  one  must  die; 

So  in  mercy  left  the  stock 

And  cut  the  branch ;   to  save  the  shock 

Of  young  years  widow'd,  and  the  pain 

When  Single  State  comes  back  again 

To  the  lone  man  who,  reft  of  wife. 

Thenceforward  drags  a  maimed  life? 

The  economy  of  Heaven  is  dark. 

And  wisest  clerks  have  miss'd  the  mark 

Why  human  buds,  like  this,  should  fall, 

More  brief  than  fly  ephemeral 

That  has  his  day ;   while  shrivell'd  crones 

Stiffen  with  age  to  stocks  and  stones ; 

And  crabbed  use  the  conscience  sears 

In  sinners  of  an  hundred  years. 

—  Mother's  prattle,  mother's  kiss, 

Baby  fond,  thou  ne'er  wilt  miss : 

Rites,  which  custom  does  impose, 

Silver  bells,  and  baby  clothes ; 

Coral  redder  than  those  lips 

Which  pale  death  did  late  eclipse; 

Music  framed  for  infants'  glee, 

Whistle  never  tuned  for  thee ; 

Though  thou  want'st  not,  thou  shalt  have  them. 

Loving  hearts  were  they  which  gave  them. 

Let  not  one  be  missing;    nurse, 

278 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

See  them  laid  upon  the  hearse 
Of  infant  slain  by  doom  perverse. 
Why  should  kings  and  nobles  have 
Pictured  trophies  to  their  grave, 
And  we,  churls,  to  thee  deny 
Thy  pretty  toys  with  thee  to  lie  — 
A  more  harmless  vanity? 

C.  Lamb 


CCXXXVIU 

THE    AFFLICTION    OF    MARGARET 

WHERE  art  thou,  my  beloved  Son, 
Where  art  thou,  worse  to  me  than  dead ! 

0  find  me,  prosperous  or  undone ! 
Or  if  the  grave  be  now  thy  bed, 
Why  am  I  ignorant  of  the  same 
That  I  my  rest ;   and  neither  blame 
Nor  sorrow  may  attend  thy  name? 

Seven  years,  alas  !  to  have  received 
No  tidings  of  an  only  child  — 
To  have  despair'd,  have  hoped,  believed, 
And  been  for  evermore  beguiled,  - — 
Sometimes  with  thoughts  of  very  bliss ! 

1  catch  at  them,  and  then  I  miss ; 
Was  ever  darkness  like  to  this? 

He  was  among  the  prime  in  worth. 
An  object  beauteous  to  behold; 
Well  born,  well  bred ;    I  sent  him  forth 
Ingenuous,  innocent,  and  bold : 
If  things  ensued  that  wanted  grace 
As  hath  been  said,  they  were  not  base ; 
And  never  blush  was  on  my  face. 

279 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Ah !   little  doth  the  young-one  dream 
When  full  of  play  and  childish  cares, 
What  power  is  in  his  wildest  scream 
Heard  by  his  mother  unawares ! 
He  knows  it  not,  he  cannot  guess ; 
Years  to  a  mother  bring  distress ; 
But  do  not  make  her  love  the  less. 

Neglect  me !  no,  I  suffer'd  long 
From  that  ill  thought ;   and  being  blind 
Said  '  Pride  shall  help  me  in  my  wrong : 
Kind  mother  have  I  been,  as  kind 
As  ever  breathed :'  and  that  is  true ; 
I  've  wet  my  path  with  tears  like  dew, 
W^eeping  for  him  when  no  one  knew. 

My  Son,  if  thou  be  humbled,  poor. 
Hopeless  of  honour  and  of  gain, 
O !   do  not  dread  thy  mother's  door ; 
Think  not  of  me  with  grief  and  pain : 
I  now  can  see  with  better  eyes ; 
And  worldly  grandeur  I  despise 
And  fortune  with  her  gifts  and  lies. 

Alas  !  the  fowls  of  heaven  have  wings. 
And  blasts  of  heaven  will  aid  their  flight ; 
They  mount  —  how  short  a  voyage  brings 
The  wanderers  back  to  their  delight ! 
Chains  tie  us  down  by  land  and  sea ; 
And  wishes,  vain  as  mine,  may  be 
All  that  is  left  to  comfort  thee. 

Perhaps  some  dungeon  hears  thee  groan 
Maim'd,  mangled  by  inhuman  men ; 
Or  thou  upon  a  desert  thrown 
Inheritest  the  lion's  den ; 

280 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Or  hast  been  summon'd  to  the  deep 
Thou,  thou,  and  all  thy  mates,  to  keep 
An  incommunicable  sleep. 

I  look  for  ghosts :   but  none  will  force 
Their  way  to  me ;   't  is  falsely  said 
That  there  was  ever  intercourse 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead ; 
For  surely  then  I  should  have  sight 
Of  him  I  wait  for  day  and  night 
With  love  and  longings  infinite. 

My  apprehensions  come  in  crowds ; 
I  dread  the  rustling  of  the  grass ; 
The  very  shadows  of  the  clouds 
Have  power  to  shake  me  as  they  pass ; 
I  question  things,  and  do  not  find 
One  that  will  answer  to  my  mind ; 
And  all  the  world  appears  unkind. 

Beyond  participation  lie 
My  troubles,  and  beyond  relief: 
If  any  chance  to  heave  a  sigh 
They  pity  me,  and  not  my  grief. 
Then  come  to  me,  my  Son,  or  send 
Some  tidings  that  my  woes  may  end ! 
I  have  no  other  earthly  friend. 

W.  Wordsworth 


CCXXXIX 

HUNTING    SONG 

WAKEN,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day ; 
All  the  jolly  chase  is  here 
With  hawk  and  horse  and  hunting-spear; 

281 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 
Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 
Merrily  merrily  mingle  they, 
'  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay.' 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming. 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming; 

And  foresters  have  busy  been 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay 

'  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay.' 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
To  the  greenwood  haste  away; 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies, 
Fleet  of  foot  and  tall  of  size ; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  fray'd ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay ; 
'  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay.' 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay. 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay  ! 
Tell  them  youth  and  mirth  and  glee 
Run  a  course  as  well  as  we ; 
^  Time,  stern  huntsman !   who  can  baulk. 
Stanch  as  hound  and  fleet  as  hawk ; 
Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day 
Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay ! 

Sir  W.  Scott 


282 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


CCXL 


TO    THE    SKYLARK 

ETHEREAL  minstrel!    pilgrim  of  the  sky! 
Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound? 
Or  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 
Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground? 
Thy  nest  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will, 
Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still ! 

To  the  last  point  of  vision,  and  beyond 

Mount,  daring  warbler !  —  that  love-prompted  strain 

—  'Twixt  thee  and  thine  a  never-failing  bond  — 

Thrills  not  the  less  the  bosom  of  the  plain  : 

Yet  might'st  thou  seem,  proud  privilege  !   to  sing 

All  independent  of  the  leafy  Spring. 

Leave  to  the  nightingale  her  shady  wood ; 

A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine. 

Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  flood 

Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine; 
I  Type  of  the  wise,  who  soar,  but  never  roam  — 
L  True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home. 

W.  Wordsworth 


CCXLI 

TO    A    SKYLARK 

AIL  to  thee,  bhthe  Spirit! 
Bird  thou  never  wert. 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

283 


H 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire; 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightening, 

Thou  dost  float  and  run, 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

The  pale  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven 

In  the  broad  daylight 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight : 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere, 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 
In  the  white  dawn  clear 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is  there. 

All   the   earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 
/  From  one  lonely  cloud 

The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  overflow'd. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ; 

What  is  most  like  thee? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

284 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 


1§      -S  -S  he  view : 

B        -  " 


^        2   c 

^  .he  ;3  iS  &p 

a   c        <-  .S 

CO 


5  .y  'S  b  " 

■g  3  S  >  S  thieves. 

4J  5     O     *     CO 

te  "^    *"    J-    « 

M  O      '  ,eS     2 


C 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 


I 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not : 

Like  a  high-born  maiden 

In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 

Soul  in  secret  hour 
With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  overflows  her  bower: 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbehblden 
Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass,  which  screen  it  from  the  view: 

Like  a  rose  embower'd 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflower'd. 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy-winged  thieves. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain-awaken'd  flowers. 

All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  surpass. 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird. 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine: 
I  have  never  heard 

Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

285 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Chorus  hymeneal 

Or  triumphal  chaunt 
Match'd  with  thine,  would  be  all 
But  an  empty  vaunt  — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden  want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains? 

What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind?  what  ignorance  of  pain? 

With  thy  clear  keen  j  oyance 

Languor  cannot  be: 
Shadow  of  annoyance 
Never  came  near  thee: 
Thou  lovest ;  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

Waking  or  asleep 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 

Than  we  mortals  dream, 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal  stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after, 

And  pine  for  what  is  not: 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught; 
Our  sweetest  sono-s  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought. 


^b' 


Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear ; 
If  we  were  things  born 
Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  knoAv  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near. 

286 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


ccxLn 


THE    GEEEN    LINNET 

BENEATH  these  fruit-tree  boughs  that  shed 
Their  snow-white  blossoms  on  my  head, 
With  brightest  sunshine  round  me  spread 
Of  Spring's  unclouded  weather. 
In  this  sequester'd  nook  how  sweet 
To  sit  upon  my  orchard-seat ! 
And  flowers  and  birds  once  more  to  greet, 
My  last  year's  friends  together. 

One  have  I  mark'd,  the  happiest  guest 
In  all  this  covert  of  the  blest : 
Hail  to  Thee,  far  above  the  rest 
In  joy  of  voice  and  pinion  ! 
Thou,  Linnet!  in  thy  green  array 
Presiding  Spirit  here  to-day 
Dost  lead  the  revels  of  the  May, 
And  this  is  thy  dominion. 

287 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

While  birds,  and  butterflies,  and  flowers, 
Make  all  one  band  of  paramours, 
Thou,  ranging  up  and  down  the  bowers 
Art  sole  in  thy  employment ; 
A  Life,  a  Presence  like  the  air. 
Scattering  thy  gladness  without  care, 
Too  blest  with  any  one  to  pair. 
Thyself  thy  own  enjoyment. 

Amid  yon  tuft  of  hazel  trees 
That  twinkle  to  the  gusty  breeze, 
Behold  him  perch'd  in  ecstasies 
Yet  seeming  still  to  hover ; 
There,  where  the  flutter  of  his  wings 
Upon  his  back  and  body  flings 
Shadows  and  sunny  glimmerings. 
That  cover  him  all  over. 

My  dazzled  sight  he  oft  deceives  — 
A  brother  of  the  dancing  leaves  ; 
Then  flits,  and  from  the  cottage-eaves 
Pours  forth  his  song  in  gushes. 
As  if  by  that  exulting  strain 
He  mock'd  and  treated  with  disdain 
The  voiceless  Form  he  chose  to  feign. 
While  fluttering  in  the  bushes. 

W.  WOEDSWORTH 


ccxLin 
TO    THE    CUCKOO 

O   BLITHE  new-comer !    I  have  heard, 
I  hear  thee  and  rejoice: 
O  Cuckoo !  shall  I  call  thee  bird. 
Or  but  a  wandering  Voice.'* 

288 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass 
Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear; 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass, 
At  once  far  off  and  near. 

Though  babbling  only  to  the  vale 
Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers, 
Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale 
Of  visionary  hours. 

Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 

No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 

A  voice,  a  mystery; 

The  same  whom  in  my  school-boy  days 
I  listen'd  to  ;   that  Cry 
Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  w^ays 
In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 

To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove 
Through  woods  and  on  the  green ; 
And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love ; 
Still  long'd  for,  never  seen ! 

And  I  can  listen  to  thee  yet ; 
Can  lie  upon  the  plain 
And  listen,  till  I  do  beget 
That  golden  time  again. 

O  blessed  Bird !   the  earth  we  pace 
Again  appears  to  be 
An  unsubstantial,  fairy  place. 
That  is  fit  home  for  Thee ! 

W.   WORDSAVORTH 


289 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


CCXLIV 

ODE    TO    A    NIGHTINGALE 

"1%  TY  heart  aches,  and  a  drowsy  numbness  pains 
ly-M.  ]VIy  sense,  as  though  of  hemlock  I  had  drunk, 
Or  emptied  some  dull  opiate  to  the  drains 
One  minute  past,  and  Lethe-wards  had  sunk : 
'T  is  not  through  envy  of  thy  happy  lot, 
But  being  too  happy  in  thy  happiness,  — 
That  thou,  light-winged  Dryad  of  the  trees, 
In  some  melodious  plot 
Of  beechen  green,  and  shadows  numberless,  , 

Singest  of  summer  in  full-throated  ease. 

O,  for  a  draught  of  vintage,  that  hath  been 

Cool'd  a  long  age  in  the  deep-delved  earth. 
Tasting  of  Flora  and  the  country  green, 

Dance,  and  Proven9al  song,  and  sun-burnt  mirth ! 
O  for  a  beaker  full  of  the  warm  South, 
Full  of  the  true,  the  blushful  Hippocrcne, 
With  beaded  bubbles  winking  at  the  brim, 
And  purple-stained  mouth ; 
That  I  might  drink,  and  leave  the  world  unseen, 
And  with  thee  fade  away  into  the  forest  dim : 

Fade  far  away,  dissolve,  and  quite  forget 

What  thou  among  the  leaves  hast  never  known, 
The  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret 

Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other  groan ; 
Where  palsy  shakes  a  few,  sad,  last  gray  hairs. 

Where  youth  grows  pale,  and  spectre-thin,  and  dies ; 
Where  but  to  think  is  to  be  full  of  sorrow 
And  leaden-cyed  despairs ; 
Where  Beauty  cannot  keep  her  lustrous  eyes, 
Or  new  Love  pine  at  them  beyond  to-morrow. 

290 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Away !   away !   for  I  will  fly  to  thee, 

Not  charioted  by  Bacchus  and  his  pards, 
But  on  the  viewless  wings  of  Poesy, 

Though  the  dull  brain  perplexes  and  retards : 
Already  with  thee !    tender  is  the  night. 

And  haply  the  Queen-Moon  is  on  her  throne, 
Cluster'd  around  by  all  her  starry  Fays ; 
But  here  there  is  no  light 
Save  what  from  heaven  is  with  the  breezes  blown 

Through  verdurous  glooms  and  winding  mossy  ways. 

I  cannot  see  what  flowers  are  at  my  feet, 

Nor  what  soft  incense  hangs  upon  the  boughs, 
But,  in  embalmed  darkness,  guess  each  sweet 

Wherewith  the  seasonable  month  endows 
The  grass,  the  thicket,  and  the  fruit-tree  wild ; 
White  hawthorn,  and  the  pastoral  eglantine ; 
Fast  fading  violets  cover'd  up  in  leaves ; 
And  mid-May's  eldest  child, 
The  coming  musk-rose,  full  of  devv'y  wine, 

The  murmurous  haunt  of  flies  on  summer  eves. 

Darkling  I  listen ;    and  for  many  a  time 

I  have  been  half  in  love  with  easeful  Death, 
Call'd  him  soft  names  in  many  a  mused  rhyme, 

To  take  into  the  air  my  quiet  breath ; 
Now  more  than  ever  seems  it  rich  to  die. 
To  cease  upon  the  midnight  with  no  pain, 

While  thou  art  pouring  forth  thy  soul  abroad 
In  such  an  ecstasy ! 
Still  wouldst  thou  sing,  and  I  have  ears  in  vain  — 
To  thy  high  requiem  become  a  sod. 

Thou  wast  not  born  for  death,  immortal  Bird ! 

No  hungry  generations  tread  thee  down ; 
The  voice  I  hear  this  passing  night  was  heard 

In  ancient  days  by  emperor  and  clown : 

291 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Perhaps  the  self-same  song  that  found  a  path 

Through  the  sad  heart  of  Ruth,  when,  sick  for  home, 
She  stood  in  tears  amid  the  ahen  corn ; 
The  same  that  oft-times  hath 
Charm'd  magic  casements,  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas,  in  faery  lands  forlorn. 

Forlorn !    the  very  word  is  like  a  bell 

To  toll  me  back  from  thee  to  my  sole  self ! 
Adieu !   the  fancy  cannot  cheat  so  well 
As  she  is  famed  to  do,  deceiving  elf. 
Adieu !   adieu !   thy  plaintive  anthem  fades 
Past  the  near  meadows,  over  the  still  stream, 
Up  the  hill-side ;  and  now  't  is  buried  deep 
In  the  next  valley-glades : 
Was  it  a  vision,  or  a  waking  dream? 

Fled  is  that  music :  —  do  I  wake  or  sleep  ? 

J.  Keats 


CCXLV 

UPON    WESTMINSTER    BRIDGE, 

Sept.  3,  1802 

EARTH  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair: 
Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty: 
This  City  now  doth  like  a  garment  wear 

The  beauty  of  the  morning:   silent,  bare, 
Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 
Open  unto  the  fields,  and  to  the  sky. 
All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 

Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 
In  his  first  splendour  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 
'  Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep ! 

292 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will : 
Dear  God!    the  very  houses  seem  asleep; 
And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still ! 

W.  WORDSWOETH 


CCXLVI 

OZYINIANDIAS    OF    EGYPT 

I  MET  a  traveller  from  an  antique  land 
Who  said :  Two  vast  and  trunkless  legs  of  stone 
Stand  in  the  desert.     Near  them  on  the  sand 
Half  sunk,  a  shatter'd  visage  lies,  whose  frown 
And  wrinkled  lip  and  sneer  of  cold  command 
Tell  that  its  sculptor  well  those  passions  read 
Which  yet  survive,  stamp'd  on  these  lifeless  things. 
The  hand  that  mock'd  them  and  the  heart  that  fed ; 
And  on  the  pedestal  these  words  appear: 
'  My  name  is  Ozymandias,  king  of  kings : 
Look  on  my  works,  ye  Mighty,  and  despair! ' 
Nothing  beside  remains.    Round  the  decay 
Of  that  colossal  wreck,  boundless  and  bare, 
The  lone  and  level  sands  stretch  far  away. 

P.  B.  Shelley 

CCXLVII 

COMPOSED    AT    NEIDPATH    CASTLE,    THE 
PROPERTY    OF    LORD    QUEENSBERRY, 

1803 

DEGENERATE  Douglas  !  oh,  the  unworthy  lord ! 
Whom  mere  despite  of  heart  could  so  far  please 
And  love  of  havoc,  (for  with  such  disease 
Fame  taxes  him,)  that  he  could  send  forth  word 

293 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

To  level  with  the  dust  a  noble  horde, 

A  brotherhood  of  venerable  trees, 

Lea\ang  an  ancient  dome,  and  towers  like  these, 

Beggar'd  and  outraged !  —  Many  hearts  deplored 

The  fate  of  those  old  trees ;   and  oft  with  pain 

The  traveller  at  this  day  will  stop  and  gaze 

On  wrongs,  which  Nature  scarcely  seems  to  heed: 

For  shelter'd  places,  bosoms,  nooks,  and  bays. 
And  the  pure  mountains,  and  the  gentle  Tweed, 
And  the  green  silent  pastures,  yet  remain. 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccxLvm 
ADMONITION    TO    A    TRA\"ELLER 

YES,  there  is  holy  pleasure  in  thine  eye ! 
—  The  lovely  cottage  in  the  guardian  nook 
Hath  stirr'd  thee  deeply ;   with  its  own  dear  brook, 
Its  own  small  pasture,  almost  its  own  sky ! 

But  covet  not  the  abode;   O  do  not  sigh 
As  many  do,  repining  while  they  look ; 
Intruders  who  would  tear  from  Nature's  book 
This  precious  leaf  with  harsh  impiety: 

—  Think  what  the  home  must  be  if  it  were  thine, 

Even  thine,  though  few  thy  wants  !  —  Roof,  window,  door, 

The  very  flowers  are  sacred  to  the  Poor, 

The  roses  to  the  porch  which  they  entwine : 
Yea,  all  that  now  enchants  thee,  from  the  day 
On  which  it  should  be  touch'd  would  melt  away ! 

W.  Wordsworth 
294 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 


CCXLIX 


TO    THE    HIGHLAND    GIRL    OF 
INVERSNEYDE 

SWEET  Highland  Girl,  a  very  shower 
Of  beauty  is  thy  earthly  dower ! 
Twice  seven  consenting  years  have  shed 
Their  utmost  bounty  on  thy  head : 
And  these  gray  rocks,  this  household  lawn, 
These  trees  —  a  veil  just  half  withdrawn, 
This  fall  of  water  that  doth  make 
A  murmur  near  the  silent  lake, 
This  little  bay,  a  quiet  road 
That  holds  in  shelter  thy  abode ; 
In  truth  together  ye  do  seem 
Like  something  fashion'd  in  a  dream ; 
Such  forms  as  from  their  covert  peep 
When  earthly  cares  are  laid  asleep  ! 
But  O  fair  Creature !  in  the  light 
Of  common  day,  so  heavenly  bright 
I  bless  Thee,  Vision  as  thou  art, 
I  bless  thee  with  a  human  heart: 
God  shield  thee  to  thy  latest  years ! 
I  neither  know  thee  nor  thy  peers : 
And  yet  my  eyes  are  fill'd  with  tears. 

With  earnest  feeling  I  shall  pray 
For  thee  when  I  am  far  away ; 
For  never  saw  I  mien  or  face 
In  which  more  plainly  I  could  trace 
Benignity  and  home-bred  sense 
Ripening  in  perfect  innocence. 
Here  scatter'd,  like  a  random  seed, 
Remote  from  men.  Thou  dost  not  need 

295 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

The  embarrass'd  look  of  shy  distress, 
And  maidenly  shamefacedness  : 
Thou  wear'st  upon  thy  forehead  clear 
The  freedom  of  a  mountaineer: 
A  face  with  gladness  overspread, 
Soft  smiles,  by  human  kindness  bred; 
And  seemliness  complete,  that  sways 
Thy  courtesies,  about  thee  plays ; 
With  no  restraint,  but  such  as  springs 
From  quick  and  eager  visitings 
Of  thoughts  that  lie  beyond  the  reach 
Of  thy  few  words  of  English  speech : 
A  bondage  sweetly  brook'd,  a  strife 
That  gives  thy  gestures  grace  and  life ! 
So  have  I,  not  unmoved  in  mind. 
Seen  birds  of  tempest-loving  kind. 
Thus  beating  up  against  the  wind. 

What  hand  but  would  a  garland  cull 
For  thee  who  art  so  beautiful? 
'     O  happy  pleasure!    here  to  dwell 
f^y     -r  Beside  thee  in  some  heathy  dell; 

Adopt  your  homely  ways,  and  dress, 
j   A  shepherd,  thou  a  shepherdess! 
But  I  could  frame  a  wish  for  thee 
More  like  a  grave  reality : 
Thou  art  to  me  but  as  a  wave 
Of  the  wild  $ea:   and  I  would  have 
Some  claim  upon  thee,  if  I  could, 
Though  but  of  common  neighbourhood. 
What  joy  to  hear  thee,  and  to  see! 
Thy  elder  brother  I  would  be, 
Thy  father,  anything  to  thee. 

Now  thanks  to  Heaven !  that  of  its  grace 
Hath  led  me  to  this  lonely  place ; 

296 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Joy  have  I  had ;   and  going  hence 

I  bear  away  my  recompense. 

In  spots  like  these  it  is  we  prize 

Our  memory,  feel  that  she  hath  eyes: 

Then  why  should  I  be  loth  to  stir? 

I  feel  this  place  was  made  for  her ; 

To  give  new  pleasure  like  the  past, 

Continued  long  as  life  shall  last. 

Nor  am  I  loth,  though  pleased  at  heart, 

Sweet  Highland  Girl !  from  thee  to  part ; 

For  I,  methinks,  till  I  grow  old 

As  fair  before  me  shall  behold 

As  I  do  now,  the  cabin  small. 

The  lake,  the  bay,  the  waterfall ; 

And  Thee,  the  spirit  of  them  all! 

W.  Wordsworth 


CCL 

THE    REAPER 

"D  EHOLD  her,  single  in  the  field, 
^^-^  Yon  solitary  Higliland  Lass ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself ; 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain ; 
O  listen !   for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 

No  nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travellers  in  some  shady  haunt, 
Among  Arabian  sands : 
297 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

No  sweeter  voice  was  ever  heard 
In  spring-time  from  the  cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  mc  what  she  sings? 

Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 

For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 

And  battles  long  ago: 

Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 

Familiar  matter  of  to-day? 

Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 

That  has  been,  and  may  be  again ! 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending ; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work. 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending; 
I  listen'd,  till  I  had  my  fill ; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill, 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

W.  Wordsworth 

CCLI 

THE  REVERIE  OF  POOR  SUSAN 

AT  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when  daylight  appears, 
Hangs  a  Thrush  that  sings  loud,  it  has  sung  for  three  years 
Poor  Susan  has  pass'd  by  the  spot,  and  has  heard 
In  the  silence  of  morning  the  song  of  the  bird. 

'T  is  a  note  of  enchantment;   what  ails  her?     She  sees 
A  mountain  ascending,  a  vision  of  trees  ; 
Bright  volumes  of  vapour  through  Lothbury  glide, 
And  a  river  flows  on  through  the  vale  of  Cheapside. 

298 


SOXGS     AND     LYRICS 

Green  pastures  she  views  in  the  midst  of  the  dale 
Down  which  she  so  often  has  tripp'd  with  her  pail ; 
And  a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  like  a  dove's, 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that  she  loves. 

She  looks,  and  her  heart  is  in  heaven :   but  they  fade, 
The  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill  and  the  shade ; 
The  stream  will  not  flow,  and  the  hill  will  not  rise, 
And  the  colours  have  all  pass'd  away  from  her  eyes ! 

W.  Wordsworth 


CCLU 


TO    A    LADY    WITH    A    GUITAR 

ARIEL  to  Miranda :  —  Take 
This  slave  of  music,  for  the  sake 
Of  him,  who  is  the  slave  of  thee; 
And  teach  it  all  the  harmony 
In  which  thou  canst,  and  only  thou, 
Make  the  delighted  spirit  glow, 
Till  joy  denies  itself  again 
And,  too  intense,  is  turn'd  to  pain. 
For  by   permission   and   command 
Of  thine  own  Prince  Ferdinand, 
Poor  Ariel  sends  this  silent  token 
Of  more  than  ever  can  be  spoken ; 
Your  guardian  spirit,  Ariel,  who 
From  life  to  life  must  still  pursue 
Your  happiness,  for  thus  alone 
Can  Ariel  ever  find  his  own ; 
From  Prospero's  enchanted  cell, 
As  the  miglity  verses  tell, 
To  the  throne  of  Naples  he 
Lit  you  o'er  the  trackless  sea, 
299 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Flitting  on,  your  prow  before, 

Like  a  living  meteor. 

When  you  die,  the  silent  Moon 

In  her  interlunar  swoon 

Is  not  sadder  in  her  cell 

Than  deserted  Ariel ; 

When  you  live  again  on  earth, 

Like  an  unseen  Star  of  birth 

Ariel  guides  you  o'er  the  sea 

Of  life  from  your  nativity: 

Many  changes  have  been  run 

Since  Ferdinand  and  you  begun 

Your  course  of  love,  and  Ariel  still 

Has  track'd  your  steps  and  served  your  will. 

Now  in  humbler,  happier  lot, 

This  is  all  remember'd  not ; 

And  now,  alas !  the  poor  sprite  is 

Imprison'd  for  some  fault  of  his 

In  a  body  like  a  grave  — 

From  you  he  only  dares  to  crave 

For  his  service  and  his  sorrow 

A  smile  to-day,  a  song  to-morrow. 

The  artist  who  this  idol  wrought 
To  echo  all  harmonious  thought, 
Fell'd  a  tree,  while  on  the  steep 
The  woods  were  in  their  winter  sleep, 
Rock'd  in  that  repose  divine 
On  the  wind-swept  Apennine ; 
And  dreaming,  some  of  autumn  past, 
And  some  of  spring  approaching  fast, 
And  some  of  April  buds  and  showers, 
And  some  of  songs  in  July  bowers, 
And  all  of  love :  And  so  this  tree,  — 
Oh  that  such  our  death  may  be !  — 
Died  in  sleep,  and  felt  no  pain. 
300 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

To  live  in  happier  form  again : 
From  which,  beneath  Heaven's  fairest  star, 
The  artist  wrought  this  loved  Guitar; 
And  taught  it  justly  to  reply 
To  all  who  question  skilfully 
In  language  gentle  as  thine  own , 
Whispering  in  enamour'd  tone 
Sweet  oracles  of  woods  and  dells, 
And  summer  winds  in  sylvan  cells ; 
^       —  For  it  had  learnt  all  harmonies 
Of  the  plains  and  of  the  skies. 
Of  the  forests  and  the  mountains, 
And  the  many-voiced  fountains  ; 
The  clearest  echoes  of  the  hills, 
The  softest  notes  of  falling  rills. 
The  melodies  of  birds  and  bees, 
The  murmuring  of  summer  seas, 
And  pattering  rain,  and  breathing  dew^,        ^^ 
And  airs  of  evening ;   and  it  knew 
That  seldom-heard  mysterious  sound 
Which,  driven  on  its  diurnal  round, 
As  it  floats  through  boundless  day. 
Our  world  enkindles  on  its  way : 
—  All  this  it  knows,  but  will  not  tell 
To  those  who  cannot  question  well 
The  spirit  that  inhabits  it ; 
It  talks  according  to  the  wit 
Of  its  companions ;    and  no  more 
Is  heard  than  has  been  felt  before 
By  those  who  tempt  it  to  betray 
These  secrets  of  an  elder  day. 
But,  sweetly  as  its  answers  will 
M,     fSlJ .     Flatter  hands  of  perfect  skill. 

It  keeps  its  highest,  holiest  tone 
For  our  beloved  Friend  alone. 

gQ-j  P.  B.  Shelley 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


ccLni 
THE    DAFFODILS 

IWANDER'D  lonely  as  a  cloud 
That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  lulls, 
When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 
A  host  of  golden  daffodils, 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 
They  stretch'd  in  never-ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay : 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 

Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee :  — 

A  Poet  could  not  but  be  gay 

In  such  a  jocund  company! 

I  gazed  —  and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought ; 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude ; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills. 
And  dances  with  the  daff'odils. 

W.  Wordsworth 


302 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

CCLIV 

TO    THE    DAISY 

WITH  little  here  to  do  or  see 
Of  things  that  in  the  great  world  be, 
Sweet  Daisy  !  oft  I  talk  to  thee 

For  thou  art  worthy, 
Thou  unassuming  commonplace 
Of  Nature,  with  that  homely  face. 
And  yet  with  something  of  a  grace 
Which  love  makes  for  thee! 

Oft  on  the  dappled  turf  at  ease 

I  sit  and  play  with  similes, 

Loose  types  of  things  through  all  degrees, 

Thoughts  of  thy  raising ; 
And  many  a  fond  and  idle  name 
I  give  to  thee,  for  praise  or  blame 
As  is  the  humour  of  the  game. 

While  I  am  gazing. 

A  nun  demure,  of  lowly  port; 

Or  sprightly  maiden,  of  Love's  court. 

In  thy  simplicity  the  sport 

Of  all  temptations ; 
A  queen  in  crown  of  rubies  drest ; 
A  starveling  in  a  scanty  vest ; 
Are  all,  as  seems  to  suit  thee  best. 

Thy  appellations. 

A  little  Cyclops,  with  one  eye 
Staring  to  threaten  and  defy. 
That  thought  comes  next  —  and  instantly 
The  freak  is  over, 
303 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

The  shape  will  vanish,  and  behold ! 
A  silver  shield  with  boss  of  gold 
That  spreads  itself,  some  fairy  bold 
In  fight  to  cover. 

I  see  thee  glittering  from  afar  — 
And  then  thou  art  a  pretty  star, 
Not  quite  so  fair  as  many  are 

In  heaven  above  thee ! 
Yet  like  a  star,  with  glittering  crest, 
Self-poised  in  air  thou  seem'st  to  rest ;  — 
May  peace  come  never  to  his  nest 

Who  shall  reprove  thee ! 

Sweet  Flower !  for  by  that  name  at  last 
When  all  my  reveries  are  past 
I  call  thee,  and  to  that  cleave  fast, 

Sweet  silent  Creature ! 
That  breath'st  with  me  in  sun  and  air, 
Do  thou,  as  thou  art  wont,  repair 
My  heart  with  gladness,  and  a  share 

Of  thy  meek  nature  ! 

W.  Wordsworth 

CCLV 

ODE    TO    AUTUMN 

SEASON  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness, 
Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun  ; 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 
With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves  run ; 
To  bend  with  apples  the  moss'd  cottage-trees, 
And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core ; 
To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel  shells 
With  a  sweet  kernel ;  to  set  budding  more. 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 

304 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease ; 
For  Summer  has  o'erbrimm'd  their  clammy  cells. 

Who  hath  not  seen  Thee  oft  amid  thy  store? 

Sometimes  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 

Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor, 

Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind ; 

Or  on  a  half-reap'd  furrow  sound  asleep, 

Drowsed  with  the  fume  of  poppies,  while  thy  hook 

Spares  the  next  swath  and  all  its  twined  flowers ; 

And  sometimes  like  a  gleaner  thou  dost  keep 

Steady  thy  laden  head  across  a  brook ; 

Or  by  a  cider-press,  with  patient  look, 

Thou  watchest  the  last  oozings,  hours  by  hours. 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring.?    Ay,  where  are  they.? 

Think  not  of  them,  thou  hast  thy  music  too, 

While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day 

And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue ; 

Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 

Among  the  river-sallows,  borne  aloft 

Or  sinking  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies; 

And  full-grown  lambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly  bourn ; 

Hedge-crickets  sing,  and  now  with  treble  soft 

The  redbreast  whistles  from  a  garden-croft ; 

And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the  skies. 

J.  Keats 


CCLVI 

ODE    TO    WINTER 

Germany,  December,  1800 

WHEN  first  the  fiery-mantled  Sun 
His  heavenly  race  began  to  run, 
Round  the  earth  and  ocean  blue 
His  children  four  the  Seasons  flew :  — 

305 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

First,  in  green  apparel  dancing, 
The  young  Spring  smiled  with  angel-grace ; 

Rosy  Summer  next  advancing, 
Rush'd  into  her  sire's  embrace  — 
Her  bright-hair'd  sire,  who  bade  her  keep 

For  ever  nearest  to  his  smiles. 
On  Calpe's  olive-shaded  steep 

Or  India's  citron-cover'd  isles. 
More  remote,  and  buxom-brown, 

The  Queen  of  vintage  bow'd  before  his  throne ; 
A  rich  pomegranate  gemm'd  her  crown, 

A  ripe  sheaf  bound  her  zone. 


But  howling  Winter  fled  afar 
To  hills  that  prop  the  polar  star ; 
And  loves  on  deer-borne  car  to  ride 
With  barren  darkness  at  his  side. 
Round  the  shore  where  loud  Lofoden 

Whirls  to  death  the  roaring  whale, 
Round  the  hall  where  Runic  Odin 

Howls  his  war-song  to  the  gale  — 
Save  when  adown  the  ravaged  globe 

He  travels  on  his  native  storm. 
Deflowering  Nature's  grassy  robe 

And  trampling  on  her  faded  form; 
Till  light's  returning  Lord  assume 

The  shaft  that  drives  him  to  his  northern  field. 
Of  power  to  pierce  his  raven  plume 

And  crystal-cover'd  shield. 


O,  sire  of  storms !   whose  savage  ear 
The  Lapland  drum  delights  to  hear. 
When  Frenzy  with  her  bloodshot  eye 
Implores  thy  dreadful  deity  — 

306 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Archangel !    Power  of  desolation ! 

Fast  descending  as  thou  art, 
Say,  hath  mortal  invocation 

Spells  to  touch  thy  stony  heart: 
Then,  sullen  Winter!  hear  my  prayer, 
And  gently  rule  the  ruin'd  3'ear; 
Nor  chill  the  wanderer's  bosom  bare 
Nor  freeze  the  wretch's  falling  tear : 
To  shuddering  Want's  unmantled  bed 

Thy  horror-breathing   agues   cease  to   lend, 
And  gently  on  the  orphan  head 

Of  Innocence  descend. 

But  chiefly  spare,  0  king  of  clouds ! 
The  sailor  on  his  airy  shrouds, 
When  wrecks  and  beacons  strew  the  steep. 
And  spectres  walk  along  the  deep. 
Milder  yet  thy  snowy  breezes 

Pour  on  yonder  tented  shores. 
Where  the  Rhine's  broad  billow  freezes. 

Or  the  dark-brown  Danube  roars. 
O,  winds  of  Winter !   list  ye  there 

To  many  a  deep  and  dying  groan? 
Or  start,  ye  demons  of  the  midnight  air. 

At  shrieks  and  thunders  louder  than  your  own  ? 
Alas  !   e'en  your  unhallow'd  breath 

May  spare  the  victim  fallen  low ; 
But  Man  will  ask  no  truce  to  death. 

No  bounds  to  human  woe. 

T.  Campbell 


307 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


ccLvn 

YARROW    UNVISITED 

1803 

FROM  Stirling  Castle  we  had  seen 
The  mazy  Forth  unravell'd, 
Had  trod  the  banks  of  Clyde  and  Tay, 
And  with  the  Tweed  had  travell'd ; 
And  when  we  came  to  Clovenford, 
Then  said  my  '  winsome  Marrow,' 
'  Whate'er  betide,  we  '11  turn  aside. 
And  see  the  Braes  of  Yarrow.' 

'  Let  Yarrow  folk,  frae  Selkirk  town, 
Who  have  been  buying,  selling, 
Go  back  to  Yarrow,  't  is  their  own. 
Each  maiden  to  her  dwelling ! 
On  Yarrow's  banks  let  herons  feed. 
Hares  couch,  and  rabbits  burrow; 
But  we  will  downward  with  the  Tweed, 
Nor  turn  aside  to  Yarrow. 

*  There  's  Galla  Water,  Leader  Haughs, 
Both  lying  right  before  us  ; 
And  Dryburgh,  where  with  chiming  Tweed 
The  lintwhites  sing  in  chorus; 
There  's  pleasant  Tiviotdale,  a  land 
Made  blythe  with  plough  and  harrow: 
Why  throw  away  a  needful  day 
To  go  in  search  of  Yarrow. f* 

'  What 's  Yarrow  but  a  river  bare 
That  glides  the  dark  hills  under.'* 
There  are  a  thousand  such  elsewhere 
As  worthy  of  your  wonder.' 

308 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

—  Strange  words  they  seem'd  of  slight  and  scorn ; 

My  true-love  sigh'd  for  sorrow, 

And  look'd  me  in  the  face,  to  think 

I  thus  could  speak  of  Yarrow ! 

'  O  green,'  said  I,  *  are  Yarrow's  holms, 

And  sweet  is  Yarrow  flowing ! 

Fair  hangs  the  apple  f  rae  the  rock, 

But  we  will  leave  it  growing. 

O'er  hilly  path  and  open  strath 

We  '11  wander  Scotland  thorough ; 

But,  though  so  near,  we  will  not  turn 

Into  the  dale  of  Yarrow. 

'  Let  beeves  and  home-bred  kine  partake 
The  sweets  of  Burn-mill  meadow ; 
The  swan  on  still  Saint  Mary's  Lake 
Float  double,  swan  and  shadow ! 
We  will  not  see  them ;   will  not  go 
To-day,  nor  yet  to-morrow ; 
Enough  if  in  our  hearts  we  know 
There  's  such  a  place  as  Yarrow. 

*  Be  Yarrow  stream  unseen,  unknown ; 
It  must,  or  we  shall  rue  it : 
We  have  a  vision  of  our  own. 
Ah !    why  should  we  undo  it  ? 
The  treasured  dreams  of  times  long  past, 
We  '11  keep  them,  winsome  Marrow ! 
For  when  we  're  there,  although  t'  is  fair, 
'T  will  be  another  Yarrow ! 

'  If  care  with  freezing  years  should  come 
And  wandering  seem  but  folly,  — 
Should  we  be  loth  to  stir  from  home, 
And  yet  be  melancholy ; 

309 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Should  life  be  dull,  and  spirits  low, 
'T  will  soothe  us  in  our  sorrow 
That  earth  has  something  yet  to  show, 
The  bonny  Holms  of  Yarrow ! ' 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccLvm 

YARROW    VISITED 

September,  1814 

AND  is  this  —  Yarrow?  —  This  the  stream 
Of  which  my  fancy  cherish'd 
So  faithfully,  a  waking  dream, 
An  image  that  hath  perish'd? 
O  that  some  minstrel's  harp  were  near 
To  utter  notes  of  gladness 
And  chase  this  silence  from  the  air, 
That  fills  my  heart  with  sadness. 

Yet  why  ?  —  a  silvery  current  flows 

With  uncontroll'd  meanderings ; 

Nor  have  these  eyes  by  greener  hills 

Been  soothed,  in  all  my  wanderings. 

And,  through  her  depths.  Saint  Mary's  Lake 

Is  visibly  delighted; 

For  not  a  feature  of  those  hills 

Is  in  the  mirror  slighted. 

A  blue  sky  bends  o'er  Yarrow  Vale, 
Save  where  that  pearly  whiteness 
Is  round  the  rising  sun  diffused, 
A  tender  hazy  brightness ; 
Mild  dawn  of  promise  !  that  excludes 
All  profitless  dejection; 
Though  not  unwilling  here  to  admit 
A  pensive  recollection. 

310 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Where  was  it  that  the  famous  Flower 

Of  Yarrow  Vale  lay  bleeding? 

His  bed  perchance  was  yon  smooth  mound 

On  which  the  herd  is  feeding: 

And  haply  from  this  crystal  pool 

Now  peaceful  as  the  morning, 

The  water-Wraith  ascended  thrice, 

And  gave  his  doleful  warning. 

Delicious  is  the  Lay  that  sings 

The  haunts  of  happy  lovers, 

The  path  that  leads  them  to  the  grove, 

The  leafy  grove  that  covers : 

And  pity  sanctifies  the  verse 

That  paints,  by  strength  of  sorrow, 

The  unconquerable  strength  of  love ; 

Bear  witness,  rueful  Yarrow ! 

But  thou  that  didst  appear  so  fair 

To  fond  imagination 

Dost  rival  in  the  light  of  da.j 

Her  delicate  creation: 

Meek  loveliness  is  round  thee  spread, 

A  softness  still  and  holy : 

The  grace  of  forest  charms  decay'd, 

And  pastoral  melancholy. 

That  region  left,  the  vale  unfolds 
Rich  groves  of  lofty  stature. 
With  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp 
Of  cultivated  Nature ; 
And  rising  from  those  lofty  groves 
Behold  a  ruin  hoary, 
The  shatter'd  front  of  Newark's  Towers, 
Renown'd  in  Border  story. 

311 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Fair  scenes  for  childhood's  opening  bloom, 

For  sportive  youth  to  stray  in, 

For  manhood  to  enj  oy  his  strength. 

And  age  to  wear  away  in ! 

Yon  cottage  seems  a  bower  of  bhss, 

A  covert  for  protection 

Of  studious  ease  and  generous  cares 

And  every  chaste  affection! 

How  sweet  on  this  autumnal  day 
The  wild-wood  fruits  to  gather, 
And  on  my  true-love's  forehead  plant 
A  crest  of  blooming  heather! 
And  what  if  I  enwreathed  my  own? 
'T  were  no  offence  to  reason ; 
The  sober  hills  thus  deck  their  brows 
To  meet  the  wintry  season. 

I  see  —  but  not  by  sight  alone. 

Loved  Yarrow,  have  I  won  thee ; 

A  ray  of  Fancy  still  survives  — 

Her  sunshine  plays  upon  thee ! 

Thy  ever-youthful  waters  keep 

A  course  of  lively  pleasure  ; 

And  gladsome  notes  my  lips  can  breathe 

Accordant  to  the  measure. 

The  vapours  linger  round  the  heights, 
They  melt,  and  soon  must  vanish ; 
One  hour  is  theirs,  nor  more  is  mine  — 
Sad  thought !  which  I  would  banish. 
But  that  I  know,  where'er  I  go. 
Thy  genuine  image.  Yarrow ! 
Will  dwell  with  me,  to  heighten  joy 
And  cheer  my  mind  in  sorrow, 

W.  Wordsworth 

312 


The  brightest  hour  of  unborn  Spring, 

It  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  earth. 
And  smiled  upon  the  silent  sea, 
And  bade  the  frozen  streams  be  free, 

And  like  a  prophetess  of  May 
Strew'd  flowers  upon  the  barren  way. 


iaajri'gi-id  3fiT 

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dhRO  ariJ  \o  faBsriaioi  srI  if 

.99V1  3d  ^mss•ri^  nssoTi  sriJ  sbsd  hiiAy 

iiM  ^o  8a9J9riqoiq  s  sdii  bnA 
.Xiiw  aonfid  arii  nor — f-  W'"-*-'-'^- 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

CCLIX 

THE    INVITATION 

BEST  and  Brightest,  come  awa}^. 
Fairer  far  than  this  fair  day, 
Which,  Hke  thee,  to  those  in  sorrow 
Comes  to  bid  a  sweet  good-morrow 
To  the  rough  year  just  awake 
In  its  cradle  on  the  brake. 
The  brightest  hour  of  unborn  Spring 
Through  the  winter  wandering, 
Found,  it  seems,  the  halcyon  morn 
To  hoar  February  born ; 
Bending  from  Heaven,  in  azure  mirth, 
It  kiss'd  the  forehead  of  the  earth, 
And  smiled  upon  the  silent  sea. 
And  bade  the  frozen  streams  be  free, 
And  waked  to  music  all  their  fountains, 
And  breathed  upon  the  frozen  mountains, 
And  like  a  prophetess  of  May 
Strew'd  flowers  upon  the  barren  way, 
Making  the  wintry  world  appear 
Like  one  on  whom  thou  smilest,  Dear. 

Away,  away,  from  men  and  towns, 
To  the  wild  wood  and  the  downs  — 
To  the  silent  wilderness 
Where  the  soul  need  not  repress 
Its  music,  lest  it  should  not  find 
An  echo  in  another's  mind. 
While  the  touch  of  Nature's  art 
Harmonizes  heart  to  heart. 

Radiant  Sister  of  the  Day 
Awake !  arise  !  and  come  away ! 

313 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

To  the  wild  woods  and  the  plains, 
To  the  pools  where  winter  i-ains 
Image  all  their  roof  of  leaves, 
Where  the  pine  its  garland  weaves 
Of  sapless  green,  and  ivy  dun, 
Round  stems  that  never  kiss  the  sun, 
Where  the  lawns  and  pastures  be 
And  the  sandhills  of  the  sea, 
Where  the  melting  hoar-frost  wets 
The  daisy-star  that  never  sets. 
And  wind-flowers  and  violets 
Which  yet  join  not  scent  to  hue 
Crown  the  pale  year  weak  and  new; 
When  the  night  is  left  behind 
In  the  deep  east,  dim  and  blind, 
And  the  blue  noon  is  over  us, 
And  the  multitudinous 
Billows  murmur  at  our  feet. 
Where  the  earth  and  ocean  meet, 
And  all  things  seem  only  one 
In  the  universal  Sun. 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CCLX 

THE    RECOLLECTION 

NOW  the  last  day  of  many  days 
All  beautiful  and  bright  as  thou, 
The  loveliest  and  the  last,  is  dead: 
Rise,  Memory,  and  write  its  praise! 
Up,  do  thy  wonted  work !   come,  trace 
The  epitaph  of  glory  fled. 
For  now  the  earth  has  changed  its  face, 
A  frown  is  on  the  Heaven's  brow. 

314 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

We  wander'd  to  the  Pine  Forest 

That  skirts  the  Ocean's  foam ; 
The  lightest  wind  was  in  its  nest, 

The  tempest  in  its  home. 
The  whispering  waves  were  half  asleep, 

The  clouds  were  gone  to  play, 
And  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep 

The  smile  of  Heaven  lay ; 
It  seem'd  as  if  the  hour  were  one  ^, 

Sent  from  beyond  the  skies  '       f ,,  '*^ 

Which  scatter'd  from  above  the  sun 

A  light  of  Paradise! 

We  paused  amid  the  pines  that  stood 

The  giants  of  the  waste, 
Tortured  by  storms  to  shape  as  rude 

As  serpents  interlaced,  — 
And  soothed  by  every  azure  breath 

That  under  heaven  is  blown 
To  harmonies  and  hues  beneath. 

As  tender  as  its  own: 
Now  all  the  tree-tops  lay  asleep 

Like  green  waves  on  the  sea, 
As  still  as  in  the  silent  deep    ; 

The  ocean-woods  may  be.      ) 

How  calm  it  was  !  —  the  silence  there 
^>^  But  such  a  chain  was  bound. 
That  even  the  busy  woodpecker 

Made  stiller  by  her  sound 
The  inviolable  quietness ; 

The  breath  of  peace  we  drew 
With  its  soft  motion  made  not  less 

The  calm  that  round  us  grew. 
There  socm'd,  from  the  remotest  seat 

Of  the  wide  mountain  waste 
315 


c 


y 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

To  the  soft  flower  beneath  our  feet 
I  ^,,  A  magic  circle  traced, 

A  spirit  interfused  around, 

A  thrilling  silent  life; 
To  momentary  peace  it  bound 

Our  mortal  nature's  strife ;  — 
And  still  I  felt  the  centre  of 

The  magic  circle  there 
Was  one  fair  Form  that  fill'd  with  love 

The  lifeless  atmosphere. 

We  paused  beside  the  pools  that  lie 

Under  the  forest  bough ; 
-1  Each  seem'd  as  't  were  a  little  sky 

y/*  Gulf'd  in  a  world  below ; 

A  firmament  of  purple  light 

Which  in  the  dark  earth  lay, 
More  boundless  than  the  depth  of  night 

And  purer  than  the  day  — 
In  which  the  lovely  forests  grew 

As  in  the  upper  air, 
More  perfect  both  in  shape  and  hue 

Than  any  spreading  there. 
There  lay  the  glade  and  neighbouring  lawn. 

And  through  the  dark-green  wood 
The  white  sun  twinkling  like  the  dawn 

Out  of  a  speckled  cloud. 
Sweet  views  which  in  our  world  above 

Can  never  well  be  seen 
Were  imaged  by  the  water's  love 

Of  that  fair  forest  green: 
And  all  was  interfused  beneath 

With  an  Elyslan  glow, 
An  atmosphere  without  a  breath, 

A  softer  day  below. 
Like  one  beloved,  the  scene  had  lent 

316 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

To  the  dark  water's  breast 
Its  every  leaf  and  lineament 

With  more  than  truth  exprest ; 
Until  an  envious  wind  crept  by, 

Like  an  unwelcome  thought 
Which  from  the  mind's  too  faithful  eye 

Blots  one  dear  image  out. 
—  Though  Thou  art  ever  fair  and  kind, 

The  forests  ever  green, 
Less  oft  is  peace  in  Shelley's  mind 

Than  calm  in  waters  seen ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CCLXI 

BY    THE    SEA 

IT  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free ; 
The  holy  time  is  quiet  as  a  nun 
Breathless  with  adoration ;  the  broad  sun 
Is  sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity ; 

The  gentleness  of  heaven  is  on  the  Sea: 
Listen !  the  mighty  being  is  awake, 
And  doth  with  his  eternal  motion  make 
A  sound  like  thunder  —  everlastingly. 

Dear  child !   dear  girl !   that  walkest  with  me  here, 
If  thou  appear  untouch'd  by  solemn  thought 
Thy  nature  is  not  therefore  less  divine: 

Thou  licst  in  Abraham's  bosom  all  the  year, 
And  worship'st  at  the  Temple's  inner  shrine, 
God  being  with  thee  when  we  know  it  not. 

W.  Wordsworth 
317 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

cciiXn 
TO    THE    EVENING    STAR 

STAR  that  bringest  home  the  bee. 
And  sett'st  the  weary  labourer  free ! 
If  any  star  shed  peace,  't  is  Thou 

That  send'st  it  from  above. 
Appearing  when  Heaven's  breath  and  brow 
Are  sweet  as  hers  we  love. 

Come  to  the  luxuriant  skies, 
Whilst  the  landscape's  odours  rise. 
Whilst  far-off  lowing  herds  are  heard 

And  songs  when  toil  is  done, 
From  cottages  whose  smoke  unstirr'd 

Curls  yellow  in  the  sun. 

Star  of  love's  soft  interviews, 
Parted  lovers  on  thee  muse ; 
Their  remembrancer  in  Heaven 

Of  thrilling  vows  thou  art. 
Too  delicious  to  be  riven 

By  absence  from  the  heart. 

T.  Campbell 


ccLxin 
DATUR    HORA    QUIETI 

THE  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low. 
The  wild  birds  hush  their  song. 
The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow. 
Yet  Leonard  tarries  long. 
318 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care 

From  home  and  love  divide, 
In  the  calm  sunset  may  repair 

Each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 

The  noble  dame,  on  turret  high. 

Who  waits  her  gallant  knight, 
Looks  to  the  western  beam  to  spy 

The  flash  of  armour  bright. 
The  village  maid,  with  hand  on  brow 

The  level  ray  to  shade. 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now 

For  Colin's  darkening  plaid. 

Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row. 

By  day  they  swam  apart, 
And  to  the  thicket  wanders  slow 

The  hind  beside  the  hart. 
The  woodlark  at  his  partner's  side 

Twitters  his  closing  song  — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide, 

But  Leonard  tarries  long ! 

Sir  W.  Scott 


ccLxrv 

TO    THE    MOON 

A   RT  thou  pale  for  weariness 
■^  J^  Of  climbing  heaven,  and  gazing  on  the  earth. 

Wandering  companionless 
Among  the  stars  that  have  a  different  birth,  — 
And  ever-changing,  like  a  joyless  eye 
That  finds  no  object  worth  its  constancy? 

P.  B.  Shelley 

319 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


CCLXV 

A  WIDOW  bird  sate  mourning  for  her  Love 
Upon  a  wintry  boi^gh; 
The  frozen  wind  crept  on  above 
The  freezing  stream  below. 

There  was  no  leaf  upon  the  forest  bare, 

No  flower  upon  the  ground, 
And  little  motion  in  the  air 

Except  the  mill-wheel's  sound. 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CCLXVI 

TO    SLEEP 

A  FLOCK  of  sheep  that  leisurely  pass  by 
■*^^  One  after  one ;   the  sound  of  rain,  and  bees 
Murmuring ;   the  fall  of  rivers,  winds  and  seas. 
Smooth  fields,  white  sheets  of  water,  and  pure  sky ;  — '• 

I  've  thought  of  all  by  turns,  and  still  I  lie 
Sleepless ;   and  soon  the  small  birds'  melodies 
Must  hear,  first  uttcr'd  from  my  orchard  trees, 
And  the  first  cuckoo's  melancholy  cry. 

Even  thus  last  night,  and  two  nights  more  I  lay. 
And  could  not  win  thee.  Sleep !  by  any  stealth : 
So  do  not  let  me  wear  to-night  away : 

Without  Thee  what  is  all  the  morning's  wealth.? 

Come,  blessed  barrier  between  day  and  day. 

Dear  mother  of  fresh  thoughts  and  joyous  health! 

W.  Wordsworth 
320 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

ccLxvn 
THE    SOLDIER'S    DREAM 

OUR  bugles  sang  truce,  for  the  night-cloud  had  lower'd, 
And  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky ; 
And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  overpower'd, 
The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw 
By  the  wolf-scaring  faggot  that  guarded  the  slain, 

At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  Vision  I  saw ; 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt  it  again. 

Methought  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful  array 
Far,  far,  I  had  roam'd  on  a  desolate  track: 

'T  was  Autumn,  —  and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 
To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed  me  back. 

I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed  so  oft 

In  life's  morning  march,  when  my  bosom  was  young ; 

I  heard  my  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft. 

And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers  sung. 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore 

From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends  never  to  part ; 

My  little  ones  kiss'd  me  a  thousand  times  o'er, 
And  my  wife  sobb'd  aloud  in  her  fulness  of  heart. 

*  Stay  —  stay  with  us  !  —  rest !  —  thou  art  weary  and  worn ! ' 
And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay ;  — 

But  sorrow  retum'd  with  the  da^^^ling  of  morn. 
And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away. 

T.  Campbell 


321 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

ccLxvm 
A    DREAM    OF    THE    UNKNOWN 

IDREAM'D  that  as  I  wander'd  by  the  way 
Bare  Winter  suddenly  was  changed  to  Spring, 
And  gentle  odours  led  my  steps  astray, 

Mix'd  with  a  sound  of  waters  murmuring 
Along  a  shelving  bank  of  turf,  which  lay 

Under  a  copse,  and  hardly  dared  to  fling 
Its  green  arms  round  the  bosom  of  the  stream. 
But  kiss'd  it  and  then  fled,  as  Thou  mightest  in  dream. 

There  grew  pled  wind-flowers  and  violets, 

Daisies,  those  pearl'd  Arcturi  of  the  earth, 
The  constellated  flower  that  never  sets ; 

Faint  oxlips ;   tender  blue-bells,  at  whose  birth 
The  sod  scarce  heaved ;   and  that  tall  flower  that  wets 
Its  mother's  face  with  heaven-collected  tears, 
When  the  low  wind,  its  playmate's  voice,  it  hears. 

And  in  the  warm  hedge  grew  lush  eglantine. 

Green  cow-bind  and  the  moonlight-colour'd  May, 

And  cherry-blossoms,  and  white  cups,  whose  wine 
Was  the  bright  dew  yet  drain'd  not  by  the  day ; 

And  wild  roses,  and  ivy  serpentine 

With  its  dark  buds  and  leaves,  wandering  astray ; 

And  flowers  azure,  black,  and  streak'd  with  gold. 

Fairer  than  any  waken'd  eyes  behold. 

And  nearer  to  the  river's  trembling  edge 

There  grew  broad  flag-flowers,  purple  prank't  with  white. 
And  starry  river-buds  among  the  sedge. 

And  floating  water-lilies,  broad  and  bright, 

322 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Which  lit  the  oak  that  overhung  the  hedge 

With  moonhght  beams  of  their  own  watery  light ; 
And  bulrushes,  and  reeds  of  such  deep  green 
As  soothed  the  dazzled  eye  with  sober  sheen. 

Methought  that  of  these  visionary  flowers 
I  made  a  nosegay,  bound  in  such  a  way 

That  the  same  hues,  which  in  their  natural  bowers 
Were  mingled  or  opposed,  the  like  array 

Kept  these  imprison'd  children  of  the  Hours 
Within  my  hand,  —  and  then,  elate  and  gay, 

I  hasten'd  to  the  spot  whence  I  had  come 

That  I  might  there  present  it  —  O  !  to  Whom  ? 

P.  B.  Shelley 


ccLxrx 

THE    INNER    VISION 

A^OST  sweet  it  is  with  unuplifted  eyes 
"^    -*■  To  pace  the  ground,  if  path  there  be  or  none, 
While  a  fair  region  round  the  Traveller  lies 
Which  he  forbears  again  to  look  upon ; 

Pleased  rather  with  some  soft  ideal  scene 
The  work  of  Fancy,  or  some  happy  tone 
Of  meditation,  slipping  in  between 
The  beauty  coming  and  the  beauty  gone. 

—  If  Thought  and  Love  desert  us,  from  that  day 
Let  us  break  off  all  commerce  with  the  Muse : 
With  Thought  and  Love  companions  of  our  way  — 

Whate'er  the  senses  take  or  may  refuse,  — 
The  Mind's  internal  heaven  shall  shed  her  dews 
Of  inspiration  on  the  humblest  lay. 

W.  Wordsworth 
323 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 


E^ 


CCLXX 

THE    REALM    OF   FANCY 

VER  let  the  Fancy  roam! 
Pleasure  never  is  at  home: 
At  a  touch  sweet  Pleasure  melteth, 
Like  to  bubbles  when  rain  pelteth; 
Then  let  winged  Fancy  wander 
Through  the  thought  still  spread  beyond  her ; 
Open  wide  the  mind's  cage-door, 
)^^         She  '11  dart  forth,  and  cloudward  soar. 
O  sweet  Fancy !   let  her  loose ; 
Summer's  joys  are  spoilt  by  use. 
And  the  enjoying  of  the  Spring 
Fades  as  does  its  blossoming: 
Autumn's  red-lipp'd  fruitage  too, 
Blushing  through  the  mist  and  dew, 
Cloys  with  tasting:   What  do  then? 
Sit  thee  by  the  ingle,  when 
The  sear  faggot  blazes  bright, 
Spirit  of  a  winter's  night; 
When  the  soundless  earth  is  muffled. 
And  the  caked  snow  is  shuffled 
From  the  ploughboy's  heavy  shoon ; 
When  the  Night  doth  meet  the  Noon 
In  a  dark  conspiracy 
To  banish  Even  from  her  sky. 
—  Sit  thee  there,  and  send  abroad, 
With  a  mind  self-overaw'd 
Fancy,  high-commission'd :  —  send  her ! 
She  has  vassals  to  attend  her ; 
She  will  bring,  in  spite  of  frost, 
Beauties  that  the  earth  hath  lost; 
She  will  bring  thee,  all  together, 

324 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

All  delights  of  summer  weather; 

All  the  buds  and  bells  of  May 

From  dewy  sward  or  thorny  spray ; 

All  the  heaped  Autumn's  wealth, 

With  a  still,  mysterious  stealth : 

She  will  mix  these  pleasures  up 

Like  three  fit  wines  in  a  cup. 

And  thou  shalt  quaff  it :  —  thou  shalt  hear 

Distant  harvest-carols  clear; 

Rustle  of  the  reaped  corn; 

Sweet  birds  antheming  the  mom: 

And,  in  the  same  moment  —  hark ! 

'T  is  the  early  April  lark, 

Or  the  rooks,  with  busy  caw, 

Foraging  for  sticks  and  straw. 

Thou  shalt,  at  one  glance,  behold  \ 

The  daisy  and  the  marigold ;  7 

White-plumed  lihes,  and  the  first 

Hedge-grown  primrose  that  hath  burst  ;y 

Shaded  hyacinth,  alway 

Sapphire  queen  of  the  mid-May; 

And  every  leaf,  and  every  flower 

Pearled  with  the  self-same  shower. 

Thou  shalt  see  the  field-mouse  peep 

Meagre  from  its  celled  sleep; 

And  the  snake  all  winter-thin 

Cast  on  sunny  bank  its  skin ; 

Freckled  nest-eggs  thou  shalt  see 

Hatching  in  the  hawthorn-tree, 

When  the  hen-bird's  wing  doth  rest 

Quiet  on  her  mossy  nest; 

Then  the  hurry  and  alarm 

When  the  bee-hive  casts  its  swarm; 

Acorns   ripe  down-pattering. 

While  the  autumn  breezes  sing. 

325 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Oh,  sweet  Fancy !    let  her  loose ; 

Everything  is  spoilt  by  use: 

Where  's  the  cheek  that  doth  not  fade, 

Too  much  gazed  at?     Where  's  the  maid 

Whose  lip  mature  is  ever  new? 

Where  's  the  eye,  however  blue. 

Doth  not  weary  ?     W^here  's  the  face 

One  would  meet  in  every  place? 

Where  's  the  voice,  however  soft. 

One  would  hear  so  very  oft? 

At  a  touch  sweet  Pleasure  melteth 

Like  to  bubbles  when  rain  pelteth. 

Let  them  winged  Fancy  find 

Thee  a  mistress  to  thy  mind : 

Dulcet-eyed  as  Ceres'  daughter, 

Ere  the  God  of  Torment  taught  her 

How  to  frown  and  how  to  cliide; 

With  a  waist  and  with  a  side 

White  as  Hebe's,  when  her  zone 

Slipt  its  golden  clasp,  and  down 

Fell  her  kirtle  to  her  feet, 

While  she  held  the  goblet  sweet. 

And  Jove  grew  languid.  —  Break  the  mesh 

Of  the  Fancy's  silken  leash ; 

Quickly  break  her  prison-string. 

And  such  joys  as  these  she  '11  bring: 

—  Let  the  winged  Fancy  roam ! 

Pleasure  never  is  at  home.  ^    -.^ 

J.  Keats 

CCLXXI 

HYMN    TO    THE    SPIRIT    OF    NATURE 

T    IFE  of  Life !    Thy  lips  enkindle 
■*— ^   With  their  love  the  breath  between  them ; 
And  thy  smiles  before  they  dwindle 

326 


SONGS     AND    LYRICS 

Make  the  cold  air  fire ;   then  screen  them 
In  those  locks,  where  whoso  gazes 
Faints,  entangled  in  their  mazes. 

Child  of  Light !    Thy  limbs  are  burning 
Through  the  veil  which  seems  to  hide  them, 
As  the  radiant  lines  of  morning 
Through  thin  clouds,  ere  they  divide  them ; 
And  this  atmosphere  divinest 
Shrouds  thee  wheresoe'er  thou  shinest. 

Fair  are  others :    none  beholds  Thee ; 
But  thy  voice  sounds  low  and  tender 
Like  the  fairest,  for  it  folds  thee 
From  the  sight,  that  liquid  splendour; 
And  all  feel,  yet  see  thee  never,  — 
As  I  feel  now,  lost  for  ever! 

Lamp  of  Earth !    where'er  thou  movest 
Its  dim  shapes  are  clad  with  brightness. 
And  the  souls  of  whom  thou  lovest 
Walk  upon  the  winds  with  lightness 
Till  they  fail,  as  I  am  failing, 
Dizzy,  lost,  yet  unbewailing! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CCLXXII 

WRITTEN    IN    EARLY    SPRING 

I  HEARD  a  thousand  blended  notes 
While  in  a  grove  I  sate  reclined. 
In  that  sweet  mood  when  pleasant  thoughts 
Bring  sad  thoughts  to  the  mind. 

327 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

To  her  fair  works  did  Nature  link 
The  human  soul  that  through  me  ran ; 
And  much  it  grieved  my  heart  to  think 
What  Man  has  made  of  Man. 

Through  primrose  tufts,  in  that  sweet  bower, 
The  periwinkle  trail'd  its  wreaths  ; 
And  't  is  my  faith  that  every  flower 
Enjoys  the  air  it  breathes. 

The  birds  around  me  hopp'd  and  play'd, 
Their  thoughts  I  cannot  measure,  — 
But  the  least  motion  which  they  made 
It  seem'd  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

The  budding  twigs  spread  out  their  fan 
To  catch  the  breezy  air; 
And  I  must  think,  do  all  I  can. 
That  there  was  pleasure  there. 

If  this  belief  from  heaven  be  sent. 
If  such  be  Nature's  holy  plan, 
Have  I  not  reason  to  lament 
What  Man  has  made  of  Man.'' 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccLxxni 

RUTH:     OR    THE    INFLUENCES    OF 
NATURE 

WHEN  Ruth  was  left  half  desolate 
Her  father  took  another  mate ; 
And  Ruth,  not  seven  years  old, 

328 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

A  slighted  child,  at  her  own  will 
Went  wandering  over  dale  and  hill, 
In  thoughtless  freedom  bold. 

And  she  had  made  a  pipe  of  straw, 
And  music  from  that  pipe  could  draw 
Like  sounds  of  winds  and  floods ; 
Had  built  a  bower  upon  the  green, 
As  if  she  from  her  birth  had  been 
An  infant  of  the  woods. 

Beneath  her  father's  roof,  alone 

She  seem'd  to  live ;  her  thoughts  her  own ; 

Herself  her  own  delight: 

Pleased  with  herself,  nor  sad  nor  gay. 

She  passed  her  time ;   and  in  this  way 

Grew  up  to  woman's  height. 

There  came  a  youth  from  Georgia's  shore  - 

A  military  casque  he  wore 

With  splendid  feathers  drest; 

He  brought  them  from  the  Cherokees ; 

The  feathers  nodded  in  the  breeze 

And  made  a  gallant  crest. 

From  Indian  blood  you  deem  him  sprung: 
But  no !  he  spake  the  English  tongue 
And  bore  a  soldier's  name ; 
And,  when  America  was  free 
From  battle  and  from  jeopardy, 
He  'cross  the  ocean  came. 

With  hues  of  genius  on  his  cheek. 
In  finest  tones  the  youth  could  speak: 
—  While  he  was  yet  a  boy 
The  moon,  the  glory  of  the  sun. 
And  streams  that  murmur  as  they  run 
Had  been  his  dearest  joy. 

329 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

He  was  a  lovely  youth !     I  guess 
The  panther  in  the  wilderness 
Was  not  so  fair  as  he; 
And  when  he  chose  to  sport  and  play, 
No  dolphin  ever  was  so  gay 
Upon  the  tropic  sea. 

Among  the  Indians  he  had  fought; 
And  with  him  many  tales  he  brought 
Of  pleasure  and  of  fear ; 
Such  tales,  as  told  to  any  maid 
By  such  a  youth,  in  the  green  shade, 
Were  perilous  to  hear. 

He  told  of  girls,  a  happy  rout ! 

Who  quit  their  fold  with  dance  and  shout, 

Their  pleasant  Indian  town. 

To  gather  strawberries  all  day  long; 

Returning  with  a  choral  song 

When  daylight  is  gone  down. 

He  spake  of  plants  that  hourly  change 
Their  blossoms,  through  a  boundless  range 
Of  intermingling  hues ; 
With  budding,  fading,  faded  flowers. 
They  stand  the  wonder  of  the  bowers 
From  morn  to  evening  dews. 

He  told  of  the  Magnolia,  spread 

High  as  a  cloud,  high  over  head ! 

The  cypress  and  her  spire ; 

—  Of  flowers  that  with  one  scarlet  gleam 

Cover  a  hundred  leagues,  and  seem 

To  set  the  hills  on  fire. 

The  youth  of  green  savannahs  spake, 
And  many  an  endless,  endless  lake 
With  all  its  fairy  crowds 

330 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Of  islands,  that  together  lie 
As  quietly  as  spots  of  sky. 
Among  the  evening  clouds. 

*  And,'  then  he  said,  '  how  sweet  it  were 

A  fisher  or  a  hunter  there. 

In  sunshine  or  in  shade 

To  wander  with  an  easy  mind. 

And  build  a  household  fire,  and  find 

A  home  in  every  glade ! 

'  What  days  and  what  bright  years !  Ah  me ! 

Our  life  were  life  indeed,  with  Thee 

So  pass'd  in  quiet  bliss ; 

And  all  the  while,'  said  he,  '  to  know 

That  we  were  in  a  world  of  woe. 

On  such  an  earth  as  this ! ' 

And  then  he  sometimes  interwove 
Fond  thoughts  about  a  father's  love, 
'  For  there,'  said  he,  '  are  spun 
Around  the  heart  such  tender  ties, 
''^  '  That  our  own  children  to  our  eyes 

Are  dearer  than  the  sun. 

'  Sweet  Ruth !    and  could  you  go  with  me 

My  helpmate  in  the  woods  to  be. 

Our  shed  at  night  to  rear; 

Or  run,  my  own  adopted  bride, 

A  sylvan  huntress  at  my  side, 

And  drive  the  flying  deer! 

'  Beloved  Ruth !  '  —  No  more  he  said. 
The  wakeful  Ruth  at  midnight  shed 
A  solitary  tear: 

She  thought  again  —  and  did  agree 
With  him  to  sail  across  the  sea. 
And  drive  the  flying  deer. 

331 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

'  And  now,  as  fitting  is  and  right, 
We  in  the  church  our  faith  will  plight, 
A  husband  and  a  wife.' 
Ev^n  so  they  did ;   and  I  may  say 
That  to  sweet  Ruth  that  happy  day 
Was  more  than  human  life. 

Through  dream  and  vision  did  she  sink, 
Delighted  all  the  while  to  think 
That,  on  those  lonesome  floods 
And  green  savannahs,  she  should  share 
His  board  with  lawful  joy,  and  bear 
His  name  in  the  wild  woods. 

But,  as  you  have  before  been  told, 
This  Stripling,  sportive,  gay,  and  bold. 
And  with  his  dancing  crest 
So  beautiful,  through  savage  lands 
Had  roam'd  about,  with  vagrant  bands 
Of  Indians  in  the  West. 

The  wind,  the  tempest  roaring  high, 

The  tumult  of  a  tropic  sky 

Might  well  be  dangerous  food 

For  him,  a  youth  to  whom  was  given 

So  much  of  earth  —  so  much  of  heaven, 

And  such  impetuous  blood. 

Whatever  in  those  climes  he  found 
Irregular  in  sight  or  sound 
Did  to  his  mind  impart 
A  kindred  impulse,  seem'd  allied 
To  his  own  powers,  and  justified 
The  workings  of  his  heart. 

Nor  less,  to  feed  voluptuous  thought. 
The  beauteous  forms  of  Nature  wrought,  — 
Fair  trees  and  gorgeous  flowers ; 

332 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

The  breezes  their  own  languor  lent ; 
The  stars  had  feelings,  which  thej  sent 
Into  those  favour'd  bowers. 

Yet,  in  his  worst  pursuits,  I  ween 
That  sometimes  there  did  intervene 
Pure  hopes  of  high  intent: 
For  passions  link'd  to  forms  so  fair 
And  stately,  needs  must  have  their  share 
Of  noble  sentiment. 

But  ill  he  lived,  much  evil  saw, 
With  men  to  whom  no  better  law 
Nor  better  life  was  known ; 
Deliberately  and  undeceived 
Those  wild  men's  vices  he  received. 
And  gave  them  back  his  own. 

His  genius  and  his  moral  frame 
Were  thus  impair'd,  and  he  became 
The  slave  of  low  desires ; 
A  man  who  without  self-control 
Would  seek  what  the  degraded  soul 
Unworthily  admires. 

And  yet  he  with  no  feign'd  delight 
Had  woo'd  the  maiden,  day  and  night 
Had  loved  her,  night  and  mom: 
What  could  he  less  than  love  a  maid 
Whose  heart  with  so  much  nature  play'd  — 
So  kind  and  so  forlorn? 

Sometimes  most  earnestly  he  said, 
'  O  Ruth  !  I  have  been  worse  than  dead ; 
False  thoughts,  thoughts  bold  and  vain 
Encompass'd  me  on  every  side 
When  I,  in  confidence  and  pride. 
Had  cross'd  the  Atlantic  main. 

333 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

'  Before  me  shone  a  glorious  world 
Fresh  as  a  banner  bright,  unfurl'd 
To  music  suddenly: 
I  look'd  upon  those  hills  and  plains, 
And  seem'd  as  if  let  loose  from  chains 
To  live  at  liberty ! 

*  No  more  of  this  —  for  now,  by  thee, 
Dear  Ruth !   more  happily  set  free. 
With  nobler  zeal  I  burn ; 
]\Iy  soul  from  darkness  is  released 
Like  the  whole  sky  when  to  the  east 
The  morning  doth  return.' 

Full  soon  that  better  mind  was  gone ; 
No  hope,  no  wish  remain'd,  not  one,  — 
They  stirr'd  him  now  no  more; 
New  objects  did  new  pleasure  give. 
And  once  again  he  wish'd  to  live 
As  lawless  as  before. 

Meanwhile,  as  thus  with  him  it  fared. 
They  for  the  voyage  were  prepared, 
And  went  to  the  sea-shore: 
But,  when  they  thither  came,  the  youth 
Deserted  his  poor  bride,  and  Ruth 
Could  never  find  him  more. 

God  help  thee,  Ruth !  —  Such  pains  she  had 
That  she  in  half  a  year  was  mad 
And  in  a  prison  housed; 
And  there,  exulting  in  her  wrongs 
'^  Among  the  music  of  her  songs 
She  fearfully  caroused. 

Yet  sometimes  milder  hours  she  knew, 
Nor  wanted  sun,  nor  rain,  nor  dew, 
Nor  pastimes  of  the  May, 

334 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

—  They  all  were  with  her  in  her  cell ; 
And  a  clear  brook  with  cheerful  knell 
Did  o'er  the  pebbles  pla3^ 

When  Ruth  three  seasons  thus  had  lain, 
There  came  a  respite  to  her  pain ; 
She  from  her  prison  fled ; 
But  of  the  vagrant  none  took  thought ; 
And  where  it  Hked  her  best  she  sought 
Her  shelter  and  her  bread. 

Among  the  fields  she  breathed  again: 
The  master-current  of  her  brain 
Ran  permanent  and  free ; 
And,  coming  to  the  banks  of  Tone, 
There  did  she  rest;    and  dwell  alone 
Under  the  greenwood  tree. 

The  engines  of  her  pain,  the  tools 

That  shaped  her  sorrow,  rocks  and  pools, 

And  airs  that  gently  stir 

The  vernal  leaves  —  she  loved  them  still, 

Nor  ever  tax'd  them  with  the  ill 

Which  had  been  done  to  her. 

A  barn  her  Winter  bed  supplies  ; 
But,  till  the  warmth  of  Summer  skies 
And  Summer  days  is  gone, 
(And  all  do  in  this  tale  agree) 
She  sleeps  beneath  the  greenwood  tree. 
And  other  home  hath  none. 

An  innocent  life,  yet  far  astray ! 
And  Ruth  will,  long  before  her  day, 
Be  broken  down  and  old. 
Sore  aches  she  needs  must  have !   but  less 
Of  mind,  than  body's  wretchedness. 
From  damp,  and  rain,  and  cold. 

3f35 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

If  she  is  prest  by  want  of  food 

She  from  her  dwelHng  in  the  wood 

Repairs  to  a  road-side ; 

And  there  she  begs  at  one  steep  place, 

Where  up  and  down  with  easy  pace 

The  horsemen-travellers  ride. 

That  oaten  pipe  of  hers  is  mute 
Or  thrown  away :  but  with  a  flute 
Her  loneliness  she  cheers ; 
This  flute,  made  of  a  hemlock  stalk, 
At  evening  in  his  homeward  walk 
The  Quantock  woodman  hears. 

I,  too,  have  pass'd  her  on  the  hills 
Setting  her  little  water-mills 
By  spouts  and  fountains  wild  — 
Such  small  machinery  as  she  turn'd 
Ere  she  had  wept,  ere  she  had  mourn'd, 
A  young  and  happy  child! 

Farewell !    and  when  thy  days  are  told. 

Ill-fated  Ruth !    in  hallow'd  mould 

Thy  corpse  shall  buried  be; 

For  thee  a  funeral  bell  shall  ring, 

And  all  the  congregation  sing 

A  Christian  psalm  for  thee. 

W.  Wordsworth 

ccLxxrv 

WRITTEN    AMONG    THE    EUGANEAN 
HILLS,    NORTH    ITALY 

TV  ^  ANY  a  green  isle  needs  must  be 
•^   -■-   In  the  deep  wide  sea  of  misery. 
Or  the  mariner,  worn  and  wan, 
Never  thus  could  voyage  on 
336 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Day  and  night,  and  night  and  day, 
Drifting  on  his  dreary  way, 
With  the  sohd  darkness  black 
Closing  round  his  vessel's  track; 
Whilst  above,  the  sunless  sky 
Big  with  clouds,  hangs  heavily. 
And  behind  the  tempest  fleet 
Hurries  on  with  lightning  feet, 
Riving  sail,  and  cord,  and  plank. 
Till  the  ship  has  almost  drank 
Death  from  the  o'er-brimming  deep ; 
And  sinks  down,  down,  like  that  sleep 
When  the  dreamer  seems  to  be 
Weltering  through  eternity ; 
And  the  dim  low  line  before 
Of  a  dark  and  distant  shore 
Still  recedes,  as  ever  still 
Longing  with  divided  will, 
But  no  power  to  seek  or  shun, 
He  is  ever  drifted  on 
O'er  the  unreposing  wave. 
To  the  haven  of  the  grave. 

Ah,  many  flowering  islands  lie 
In  the  waters  of  wide  agony : 
To  such  a  one  this  morn  was  led 
My  bark,  by  soft  winds  piloted. 
—  'Mid  the  mountains  Euganean 
I  stood  listening  to  the  paean 
With  which  the  legion'd  rooks  did  hail 
The  Sun's  uprise  majestical: 
Gathering  round  with  wings  all  hoar. 
Through  the  dewy  mist  they  soar 
Like  gray  shades,  till  the  eastern  heaven 
Bursts,  and  then,  —  as  clouds  of  even 
337 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Fleck'd  with  fire  and  azure,  lie 
In  the  unfathomable  sky,  — 
So  their  plumes  of  purple  grain 
Starr'd  Avith  drops  of  golden  rain 
Gleam  above  the  sunlight  woods, 
As  in  silent  multitudes 
On  the  morning's  fitful  gale 
Through  the  broken  mist  they  sail ; 
And  the  vapours  cloven  and  gleaming 
Follow  down  the  dark  steep  streaming, 
Till  all  is  bright,  and  clear,  and  still 
Round  the  solitary  hill. 

Beneath  is  spread  like  a  green  sea 
The  waveless  plain  of  Lombardy, 
Bounded  by  the  vaporous  air, 
Islanded  by  cities  fair ; 
Underneath  day's  azure  eyes. 
Ocean's  nursling,  Venice  lies,  — 
A  peopled  labyrinth  of  walls, 
Amphitrite's  destined  halls, 
Which  her  hoary  sire  now  paves 
With  his  blue  and  beaming  waves. 
Lo !    the  sun  upsprings  behind. 
Broad,  red,  radiant,  half-reclined 
On  the  level  quivering  line 
Of  the  waters  crystalline ; 
And  before  that  chasm  of  light, 
As  within  a  furnace  bright. 
Column,  tower,  and  dome,  and  spire, 
Shine  like  obelisks  of  fire. 
Pointing  with  inconstant  motion 
From  the  altar  of  dark  ocean 
To  the  sapphire-tinted  skies; 
As  the  flames  of  sacrifice 
338 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

From  the  marble  shrines  did  rise 
As  to  pierce  the  dome  of  gold 
Where  Apollo  spoke  of  old. 

Sun-girt  City !   thou  hast  been 
Ocean's  child,  and  then  his  queen; 
Now  is  come  a  darker  day, 
And  thou  soon  must  be  his  prey. 
If  the  power  that  raised  thee  here 
Hallow  so  thy  watery  bier. 
A  less  drear  ruin  then  than  now 
With  thy  conquest-branded  brow 
Stooping  to  the  slave  of  slaves 
From  thy  throne  among  the  waves, 
Wilt  thou  be,  —  when  the  sea-mew 
Flies,  as  once  before  it  flew, 
O'er  thine  isles  depopulate. 
And  all  is  in  its  ancient  state. 
Save  where  many  a  palace-gate 
With  green  sea-flowers  overgrown 
Like  a  rock  of  ocean's  own, 
Topples  o'er  the  abandon'd  sea 
As  the  tides  change  sullenly. 
The  fisher  on  his  watery  way 
Wandering  at  the  close  of  day, 
Will  spread  his  sail  and  seize  his  oar 
Till  he  pass  the  gloomy  shore. 
Lest  thy  dead  should,  from  their  sleep, 
Bursting  o'er  the  starlight  deep. 
Lead  a  rapid  masque  of  death 
O'er  the  waters  of  his  path. 

Noon  descends  around  me  now: 
'T  is  the  noon  of  autumn's  glow, 
When  a  soft  and  purple  mist 
Like  a  vaporous  amethyst, 
339 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

Or  an  air-dissolved  star 

Mingling  light  and  fragrance,  far 

From  the  curved  horizon's  bound 

To  the  point  of  heaven's  profound, 

Fills  the  overflowing  sky ; 

And  the  plains  that  silent  lie 

Underneath ;   the  leaves  unsodden 

Where  the  infant  frost  has  trodden 

With  his  morning-winged  feet 

Whose  bright  print  is  gleaming  yet ; 

And  the  red  and  golden  vines 

Piercing  with  their  trellised  lines 

The  rough,  dark-skirted  wilderness ; 

The  dun  and  bladed  grass  no  less, 

Pointing  from  this  hoary  tower 

In  the  windless  air ;   the  flower 

Glimmering  at  my  feet ;    the  line 

Of  the  olive-sandall'd  Apennine 

In  the  south  dimly  islanded; 

And  the  Alps,  whose  snows  are  spread 

High  between  the  clouds  and  sun ; 

And  of  living  things  each  one ; 

And  my  spirit,  which  so  long 

Darken'd  this  swift  stream  of  song,  — 

Interpenetrated  lie 

By  the  glory  of  the  sky; 

Be  it  love,  light,  harmony. 

Odour,  or  the  soul  of  all 

Which  from  heaven  like  dew  doth  fall, 

Or  the  mind  which  feels  this  verse. 

Peopling  the  lone  universe. 

Noon  descends,  and  after  noon 
Autumn's  evening  meets  me  soon, 
Leading  the  infantine  moon 
340 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

And  that  one  star,  which  to  her 
Almost  seems  to  minister 
Half  the  crimson  light  she  brings 
From  the  sunset's  radiant  springs: 
And  the  soft  dreams  of  the  morn 
(Which  like  winged  winds  had  borne 
To  that  silent  isle,  which  lies 
'Mid  remember'd  agonies, 
The  frail  bark  of  this  lone  being). 
Pass,  to  other  sufferers  fleeing. 
And  its  ancient  pilot.  Pain, 
Sits  beside  the  helm  again. 

Other  flowering  isles  must  be 
In  the  sea  of  life  and  agony : 
Other  spirits  float  and  flee 
O'er  that  gulf :   ev'n  now,  perhaps, 
On  some  rock  the  wild  wave  wraps, 
With  folding  wings  they  waiting  sit 
For  my  bark,  to  pilot  it 
To  some  calm  and  blooming  cove. 
Where  for  me,  and  those  I  love, 
May  a  windless  bower  be  built. 
Far  from  passion,  pain,  and  guilt, 
In  a  dell  'mid  lawny  hills 
Which  the  wild  sea-murmur  fills. 
And  soft  sunshine,  and  the  sound 
Of  old  forests  echoing  round. 
And  the  light  and  smell  diAane 
Of  all  flowers  that  breathe  and  shine. 
—  We  may  live  so  happy  there, 
That  the  spirits  of  the  air 
Envj'ing  us,  may  even  entice 
To  our  healing  paradise 
The  polluting  multitude; 
341 


THE     GOLDEN     TREASURY 

But  their  rage  would  be  subdued 

By  that  clime  divine  and  calm, 

And  the  winds  whose  wings  rain  balm 

On  the  uplifted  soul,  and  leaves 

Under  which  the  bright  sea  heaves  ; 

While  each  breathless  interval 

In  their  whisperings  musical 

The  inspired  soul  supplies 

With  its  own  deep  melodies ; 

And  the  Love  which  heals  all  strife 

Circling,  like  the  breath  of  life, 

All  things  in  that  sweet  abode 

With  its  own  mild  brotherhood. 

They,  not  it,  would  change;    and  soon 

Every  sprite  beneath  the  moon 

Would  repent  its  envy  vain. 

And  the  Earth  grow  young  again ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CCLXXV 

ODE    TO    THE    WEST    WIND 

OWILD  West  Wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being, 
Thou,  from  whose  unseen  presence  the  leaves  dead 
Are  driven,  like  ghosts  from  an  enchanter  fleeing. 
Yellow,  and  black,  and  pale,  and  hectic  red. 
Pestilence-stricken  multitudes :  O  thou 
Who  chariotest  to  their  dark  wintry  bed 
The  winged  seeds,  where  they  lie  cold  and  low, 
Each  like  a  corpse  within  its  grave,  until 
Thine  azure  sister  of  the  spring  shall  blow 
Her  clarion  o'er  the  dreaming  earth,  and  fill 
(Driving  sweet  buds  like  flocks  to  feed  in  air) 
With  living  hues  and  odours  plain  and  hill : 

342 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

Wild  Spirit,  which  art  moving  everywhere ; 
Destroyer  and  Preserver;   Hear,  O  hear! 

Thou  on  whose  stream,  'mid  the  steep  sky's  commotion, 
Loose  clouds  like  earth's  decaying  leaves  are  shed. 
Shook  from  the  tangled  boughs  of  Heaven  and  Ocean, 
Angels  of  rain  and  lightning ;  there  are  spread 
On  the  blue  surface  of  thine  airy  surge. 
Like  the  bright  hair  uphfted  from  the  head 
Of  some  fierce  Maenad,  ev'n  from  the  dim  verge 
Of  the  horizon  to  the  zenith's  height  — 
The  locks  of  the  approaching  storm.    Thou  dirge 
Of  the  dying  year,  to  which  this  closing  night 
Will  be  the  dome  of  a  vast  sepulchre. 
Vaulted  with  all  thy  congregated  might 
Of  vapours,  from  whose  solid  atmosphere 
Black  rain,  and  fire,  and  hail,  will  burst :   O  hear ! 

Thou  who  didst  waken  from  his  summer-dreams 
The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay 
Lull'd  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams. 
Beside  a  pumice  isle  in  Baiae's  bay. 
And  saw  in  sleep  old  palaces  and  towers 
Quivering  within  the  wave's  intenser  day, 
All  overgrown  with  azure  moss  and  flowers 
So  sweet,  the  sense  faints  picturing  them  !    Thou 
For  whose  path  the  Atlantic's  level  powers 
Cleave  themselves  into  chasms,  while  far  below 
The  sea-blooms  and  the  oozy  woods  which  wear 
The  sapless  foliage  of  the  ocean,  know 
Thy  voice,  and  suddenly  grow  gray  with  fear 
And  tremble  and  despoil  themselves :  O  hear ! 

If  I  were  a  dead  leaf  thou  mightest  bear; 
If  I  were  a  swift  cloud  to  fly  with  thee ; 
A  wave  to  pant  beneath  thy  power,  and  share 
The  impulse  of  thy  strength,  only  less  free 

343 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Than  Thou,  O  uncontrollable !     If  even 
I  were  as  in  my  boyhood,  and  could  be 
The  comrade  of  thy  wanderings  over  heaven, 
As  then,  when  to  outstrip  thy  skyey  speed 
Scarce  seem'd  a  vision,  I  would  ne'er  have  striven 
As  thus  with  thee  in  prayer  in  my  sore  need. 

0  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud ! 

1  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life !     I  bleed ! 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chain'd  and  bow'd 
One  too  like  thee :   tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud. 

Make  me  thy  lyre,  ev'n  as  the  forest  is : 
What  if  my  leaves  are  falling  like  its  own ! 
The  tumult  of  thy  mighty  harmonies 
Will  take  from  both  a  deep  autumnal  tone. 
Sweet  though  in  sadness.     Be  thou.  Spirit  fierce, 
My  spirit !    be  thou  me,  impetuous  one ! 
Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe 
Like  wither'd  leaves,  to  quicken  a  new  birth; 
And,  by  the  incantation  of  this  verse, 
Scatter,  as  from  an  unextinguish'd  hearth 
Ashes  and  sparks,  my  words  among  mankind ! 
Be  through  my  lips  to  unawaken'd  earth 
The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy !    O  Wind, 
If  Winter  comes,  can  Spring  be  far  behind? 

P.  B.  Shelley 

CCLXXVI 

NATURE    AND    THE    POET 

Suggested  hy  a  Picture  of  Peele  Castle  in  a  Storm, 
painted  hy  Sir  George  Beaumont 

T    WAS  thy  neighbour  once,  thou  rugged  Pile ! 

■'■    Four  summer  weeks  I  dwelt  in  sight  of  thee: 
I  saw  thee  every  day;    and  all  the  while 
Thy  form  was  sleeping  on  a  glassy  sea. 

344 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

So  pure  the  sky,  so  quiet  was  the  air ! 
So  Hke,  so  very  like,  was  day  to  day ! 
Whene'er  I  look'd,  thy  image  still  was  there; 
It  trembled,  but  it  never  pass'd  away. 

How  perfect  was  the  calm !    It  seem'd  no  sleep, 
No  mood,  which  season  takes  away,  or  brings : 
I  could  have  fancied  that  the  mighty  Deep 
Was  even  the  gentlest  of  all  gentle  things. 

Ah !    then  if  mine  had  been  the  painter's  hand 
To  express  what  then  I  saw ;    and  add  the  gleam. 
The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land. 
The  consecration,  and  the  Poet's  dream,  — 

I  would  have  planted  thee,  thou  hoary  pile, 
Amid  a  world  how  different  from  this ! 
Beside  a  sea  that  could  not  cease  to  smile ; 
On  tranquil  land,  beneath  a  sky  of  bliss. 

A  picture  had  it  been  of  lasting  ease, 
Elysian  quiet,  without  toil  or  strife ; 
No  motion  but  the  moving  tide,  a  breeze, 
Or  merely  silent  Nature's  breathing  life. 

Such,  in  the  fond  illusion  of  my  heart. 

Such  picture  would  I  at  that  time  have  made ; 

And  seen  the  soul  of  truth  in  every  part, 

A  steadfast  peace  that  might  not  be  betray'd. 

So  once  it  would  have  been,  —  't  is  so  no  more ; 
I  have  submitted  to  a  new  control: 
A  power  is  gone,  which  nothing  can  restore ; 
A  deep  distress  hath  humanized  my  soul. 

Not  for  a  moment  could  I  now  behold 
A  smiling  sea,  and  be  what  I  have  been: 
The  feeling  of  my  loss  will  ne'er  be  old; 
This,  which  I  know,  I  speak  with  mind  serene. 

345 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Then,  Beaumont,  Friend !  who  would  have  been  the 

friend 
If  he  had  hved,  of  him  whom  I  deplore, 
This  work  of  thine  I  blame  not,  but  commend ; 
This  sea  in  anger,  and  that  dismal  shore. 

0  't  is  a  passionate  work !  —  yet  wise  and  well, 
Well  chosen  is  the  spirit  that  is  here ; 

That  hulk  which  labours  in  the  deadly  swell, 
This  rueful  sky,  this  pageantry  of  fear! 

And  this  huge  Castle,  standing  here  sublime, 

1  love  to  see  the  look  with  which  it  braves, 

—  Cased  in  the  unfeeling  armour  of  old  time  — 
The  lightning,  the  fierce  wind,  and  trampling  waves. 

—  Farewell,  farewell  the  heart  that  lives  alone. 
Housed  in  a  dream,  at  distance  from  the  Kind ! 
Such  happiness,  wherever  it  be  known 

Is  to  be  pitied ;  for  't  is  surely  blind. 

But  welcome  fortitude,  and  patient  cheer, 
And  frequent  sights  of  wJiat  is  to  be  borne ! 
Such  sights,  or  worse,  as  are  before  me  here :  — 
Not  without  hope  we  suffer  and  we  mourn. 

W.  WOEDSWOETH 


ccLxxvn 
THE    POET'S    DREAM 

ON  a  Poet's  lips  I  slept 
Dreaming  like  a  love-adept 
In  the  sound  his  breathing  kept ; 
Nor  seeks  nor  finds  he  mortal  blisses, 

346 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

But  feeds  on  the  aerial  kisses 

Of  shapes  that  haunt  Thought's  wildernesses. 

He  will  watch  from  dawn  to  gloom 

The  lake-reflected  sun  illume 

The  yellow  bees  in  the  ivy-bloom, 

Nor  heed  nor  see  what  things  they  be  — 
But  from  these  create  he  can 
Forms  more  real  than  living  Man, 

Nurslings  of  Immortahty ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


ccLxxvm 

THE  World  is  too  much  with  us ;    late  and  soon, 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers ; 
Little  we  see  in  Nature  that  is  ours ; 
We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon ! 

This  Sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  moon. 
The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours 
And  are  up-gather'd  now  like  sleeping  flowers, 
For  this,  for  every  tiling,  we  are  out  of  tune ; 

It  moves  us  not.  —  Great  God !   I  'd  rather  be 
A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn,  — 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea. 

Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn ; 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea ; 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn. 

W.  Wordsworth 


347 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 


CCLXXIX 

WITHIN    KING'S    COLLEGE    CHAPEL, 
CAMBRIDGE 

TAX  not  the  royal  Saint  with  vain  expense, 
With  ill-match'd  aims  the  Architect  who  plann'd 
(Albeit  labouring  for  a  scanty  band 
Of  white-robed  Scholars  only)  this  immense 

And  glorious  work  of  fine  intelligence ! 

—  Give  all  thou  canst ;  high  Heaven  rejects  the  lore 

Of  nicely-calculated  less  or  more :  - — 

So  deem'd  the  man  who  fashion'd  for  the  sense 

These  lofty  pillars,  spread  that  branching  roof 
Self-poised,  and  scoop'd  into  ten  thousand  cells 
Where  light  and  shade  repose,  where  music  dwells 

Lingering  and  wandering  on  as  loth  to  die  — 
Like  thoughts  whose  very  sweetness  yieldeth  proof 
That  they  were  born  for  immortality. 

W.  Wordsworth 


CCLXXX 

YOUTH    AND    AGE 

T  7  ERSE,  a  breeze  'mid  blossoms  straying, 
'       Where  Hope  clung  feeding,  like  a  bee  - 
Both  were  mine  !    Life  went  a-Maying 
With  Nature,  Hope,  and  Poesy, 
When  I  was  young ! 
When  I  was  young?  —  Ah,  woful  when  ! 
Ah !  for  the  change  'twixt  Now  and  Then ! 
This  breathing  house  not  built  with  hands, 

348 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

This  body  that  does  me  grievous  wrong, 

O'er  aery  cliffs  and  ghttering  sands 

How  lightly  then  it  flash'd  along : 

Like  those  trim  skiffs,  unknown  of  yore, 

On  winding  lakes  and  rivers  wide, 

That  ask  no  aid  of  sail  or  oar. 

That  fear  no  spite  of  wind  or  tide ! 

Nought  cared  this  body  for  wind  or  weather 

When  Youth  and  I  hved  in  't  together. 

Flowers  are  lovely  ;  Love  is  flower-like ; 
Friendship  is  a  sheltering  tree ; 
O  !  the  joys,  that  came  down  shower-like, 
Of  Friendship,  Love,  and  Liberty, 

Ere  I  was  old! 
Ere  I  was  old?    Ah  woful  Ere, 
Which  tells  me.  Youth  's  no  longer  here. 

0  Youth !  for  years  so  many  and  sweet, 
'T  is  known  that  Thou  and  I  were  one, 

1  '11  think  it  but  a  fond  conceit  — 
It  cannot  be,  that  Thou  art  gone ! 
Thy  vesper-bell  hath  not  yet  toll'd :  — 
And  thou  wert  aye  a  masker  bold! 
What  strange  disguise  hast  now  put  on 
To  make  believe  that  Thou  art  gone  ? 

I  see  these  locks  in  silvery  slips. 
This  drooping  gait,  this  alter'd  size: 
But  Springtide  blossoms  on  thy  lips. 
And  tears  take  sunshine  from  thine  eyes ! 
Life  is  but  Thought :    so  think  I  will 
That  Youth  and  I  are  housemates  still. 

Dew-drops  are  the  gems  of  morning, 
But  the  tears  of  mournful  eve ! 
Where  no  hope  is,  life  's  a  warning 
That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 
When  we  are  old: 
349 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

—  That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 
With  oft  and  tedious  taking-leave, 
Like  some  poor  nigh-related  guest 
That  may  not  rudely  be  dismist, 
Yet  hath  out-stay'd  his  welcome  while, 
And  tells  the  jest  without  the  smile. 

S.  T.  Coleridge 


CCLXXXI 

THE    TWO    APRIL    MORNINGS 

WE  walk'd  along,  while  bright  and  red 
Uprose  the  morning  sun ; 
And  Matthew  stopp'd,  he  look'd,  and  said 
'  The  will  of  God  be  done ! ' 

A  village  schoolmaster  was  he, 
With  hair  of  glittering  gray ; 
As  blithe  a  man  as  you  could  see 
On  a  spring  holiday. 

And  on  that  morning,  through  the  grass 
And  by  the  steaming  rills 
We  travell'd  merrily,  to  pass 
A  day  among  the  hills. 

'  Our  work,'  said  I,  '  was  well  begun ; 
Then,  from  thy  breast  what  thought, 
Beneath  so  beautiful  a  sun. 
So  sad  a  sigh  has  brought?  ' 

A  second  time  did  Matthew  stop ; 
And  fixing  still  his  eye 
Upon  the  eastern  mountain-top. 
To  me  he  made  reply: 

350 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

*  Yon  cloud  with  that  long  purple  cleft 
Brings  fresh  into  my  mind 

A  day  like  this,  which  I  have  left 
Full  thirty  years  behind. 

'  And  just  above  yon  slope  of  com 
Such  colours,  and  no  other. 
Were  in  the  sky  that  April  morn 
Of  this  the  very  brother. 

'  With  rod  and  line  I  sued  the  sport 
Which  that  sweet  season  gave, 
And  coming  to  the  church,  stopp'd  short 
Beside  my  daughter's  grave. 

*  Nine  summers  had  she  scarcely  seen. 
The  pride  of  all  the  vale ; 

And  then  she  sang :  —  she  would  have  been 
A  very  nightingale. 

'  Six  feet  in  earth  my  Emma  lay ; 
And  yet  I  loved  her  more  — 
For  so  it  seem'd,  —  than  till  that  day 
I  e'er  had  loved  before. 

'  And  turning  from  her  grave,  I  met, 
Beside  the  churchyard  yew, 
A  blooming  Girl,  whose  hair  was  wet 
With  points  of  morning  dew. 

'  A  basket  on  her  head  she  bare ; 
Her  brow  was  smooth  and  white: 
To  see  a  child  so  very  fair, 
It  was  a  pure  delight ! 

*  No  fountain  from  its  rocky  cave 
E'er  tripp'd  with  foot  so  free ; 
She  seem'd  as  happy  as  a  wave 
That  dances  on  the  sea. 

351 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

*  There  came  from  me  a  sigh  of  pain 
Which  I  could  ill  confine ; 
I  look'd  at  her,  and  look'd  again : 
And  did  not  wish  her  mine! ' 

—  Matthew  is  in  his  grave,  yet  now 
Methinks  I  see  him  stand 
As  at  that  moment,  with  a  bough 
Of  wilding  in  his  hand. 

W.  Wordsworth; 


ccLxxxn 

THE    FOUNTAIN 
A  Conversation 

WE  talk'd  with  open  heart,  and  tongue 
Affectionate  and  true, 
A  pair  of  friends,  though  I  was  young, 
And  Matthew  seventy-two. 

We  lay  beneath  a  spreading  oak. 
Beside  a  mossy  seat; 
And  from  the  turf  a  fountain  broke 
And  gurgled  at  our  feet. 

'  Now,  Matthew ! '  said  I, '  let  us  match 
This  water's  pleasant  tune 
With  some  old  border-song,  or  catch 
That  suits  a  summer's  noon. 

'  Or  of  the  church-clock  and  the  chimes 
Sing  here  beneath  the  shade 
That  half-mad  thing  of  witty  rhymes 
Which  you  last  April  made ! ' 

352 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

In  silence  Matthew  lay,  and  eyed 
The  spring  beneath  the  tree ; 
And  thus  the  dear  old  man  replied, 
The  gray-hair'd  man  of  glee : 

'  No  check,  no  stay,  this  Streamlet  fears, 
How  merrily  it  goes ! 
'T  will  murmur  on  a  thousand  years 
And  flow  as  now  it  flows. 

'  And  here,  on  this  dehghtfnl  day, 
I  cannot  choose  but  think 
How  oft,  a  vigorous  man,  I  lay 
Beside  this  fountain's  brink. 

'  My  eyes  are  dim  with  childish  tears, 
My  heart  is  idly  stirr'd. 
For  the  same  sound  is  in  my  ears 
Which  in  those  days  I  heard. 

'  Thus  fares  it  still  in  our  decay : 
And  yet  the  wiser  mind 
Mourns  less  for  what  Age  takes  away. 
Than  what  it  leaves  behind. 

'  The  blackbird  amid  leafy  trees. 
The  lark  above  the  hill, 
Let  loose  their  carols  when  they  please. 
Are  quiet  when  they  will. 

'  With  Nature  never  do  they  wage 
A  foolish  strife  ;  they  see 
A  happy  youth,  and  their  old  age 
Is  beautiful  and  free: 

'  But  we  are  press'd  by  heavy  laws ; 
And  often,  glad  no  more, 
We  wear  a  face  of  joy,  because 
We  have  been  glad  of  yore. 

353 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

'  If  there  be  one  who  need  bemoan 

His  kindred  laid  in  earth, 

The  household  hearts  that  were  his  own,  — 

It  is  the  man  of  mirth. 

'  My  days,  my  friend,  are  almost  gone, 
My  life  has  been  approved, 
And  many  love  me ;  but  by  none 
Am  I  enough  beloved.' 

*  Now  both  himself  and  me  he  wrongs, 
The  man  who  thus  complains  ! 

I  live  and  sing  my  idle  songs 
Upon  these  happy  plains : 

*  And  Matthew,  for  thy  children  dead 
I  '11  be  a  son  to  thee ! ' 

At  this  he  grasp'd  my  hand  and  said, 
'  Alas  !  that  cannot  be.' 

We  rose  up  from  the  fountain-side; 
And  down  the  smooth  descent 
Of  the  green  sheep-track  did  we  glide ; 
And  through  the  wood  we  went ; 

And  ere  we  came  to  Leonard's  rock 
He  sang  those  witty  rhymes 
About  the  crazy  old  church-clock. 
And  the  bewilder'd  chimes, 

W.  Wordsworth 

ccLxxxin 
THE    RIVER    OF    LIFE 

THE  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 
Our  life's  succeeding  stages : 
A  day  to  childhood  seems  a  year, 
And  years  like  passing  ages. 
354 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

The  gladsome  current  of  our  youth, 

Ere  passion  yet  disorders, 
Steals  lingering  like  a  river  smooth 

Along  its  grassy  borders. 

But  as  the  care-worn  cheek  grows  wan. 

And  sorrow's  shafts  fly  thicker, 
Ye  Stars,  that  measure  life  to  man, 

Why  seem  your  courses  quicker? 

When  joys  have  lost  their  bloom  and  breath 

And  life  itself  is  vapid, 
Why,  as  we  reach  the  Falls  of  Death, 

Feel  we  its  tide  more  rapid? 

It  may  be  strange  —  yet  who  would  change 
Time's  course  to  slower  speeding. 

When  one  by  one  our  friends  have  gone 
And  left  our  bosoms  bleeding? 

Heaven  gives  our  years  of  fading  strength 

Indemnifying  fleetness ; 
And  those  of  youth,  a  seeming  length, 

Proportion'd  to  their  sweetness. 

T.  Campbell 


CCLXXXIV 

THE    HUMAN    SEASONS 

FOUR  Seasons  fill  the  measure  of  the  year ; 
There  are  four  seasons  in  the  mind  of  Man : 
He  has  his  lusty  Spring,  when  fancy  clear 
Takes  in  all  beauty  with  an  easy  span: 

He  has  his  Summer,  when  luxuriously 
Spring's  honey'd  cud  of  youthful  thought  he  loves 
To  ruminate,  and  by  such  dreaming  high 
Is  nearest  unto  heaven :    quiet  coves 

855 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

His  soul  has  in  its  Autumn,  when  his  wings 
He  furleth  close ;    contented  so  to  look 
On  mists  in  idleness  —  to  let  fair  things 
Pass  by  unheeded  as  a  threshold  brook :  — 

He  has  his  Winter  too  of  pale  misfeature, 
Or  else  he  would  forego  his  mortal  nature. 

J.  Keats 


CCLXXXV 

A    LAMENT 

O  WORLD!    OLife!    O  Time! 
On  whose  last  steps  I  climb, 
Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before ; 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime? 
No  more  —  O  never  more ! 

Out  of  the  day  and  night 
A  joy  has  taken  flight: 

Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with  delight 
No  more  —  O  never  more ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 


CCLXXXVI 

IVyTY  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 
•^    -^  A  rainbow  in  the  sky: 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began, 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man. 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old 
Or  let  me  die ! 

356 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

The  Child  is  father  of  the  Man : 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 

W.  Wordsworth 


ccLxxxvn 


ODE    ON    INTIMATIONS    OF    IMMORTALITY 
FROM    RECOLLECTIONS    OF    EARLY 
CHILDHOOD 

THERE  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream, 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight 
To  me  did  seem 
Apparell'd  in  celestial  light. 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  has  been  of  yore ;  — 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may. 
By  night  or  day. 
The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more ! 

The  rainbow  comes  and  goes. 

And  lovely  is  the  rose ; 

The  moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  round  her  when  the  heavens  are  bare ; 

Waters  on  a  starry  night 

Are  beautiful  and  fair ; 
The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth ; 
But  yet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  pass'd  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 

Now,  while  the  birds  thus  sing  a  joyous  song. 
And  while  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound, 
357 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief: 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief, 

And  I  again  am  strong. 
The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep,  — 
No  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong : 
I  hear  the  echoes  through  the  mountains  throng. 
The  winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  sleep, 
And  all  the  earth  is  gay ; 
Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity, 

And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday ;  — 
Thou  child  of  joy 
Shout  round  me,  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou  happy 
Shepherd-boy ! 

Ye  blessed  creatures,  I  have  heard  the  call 

Ye  to  each  other  make ;   I  see 
The  heavens  laugh  with  you  in  your  jubilee ; 

My  heart  is  at  your  festival. 
My  head  hath  its  coronal. 
The  fullness  of  your  bliss,  I  feel  —  I  feel  it  all. 

0  evil  day !   if  I  were  sullen 
While  Earth  herself  is  adorning 

This  sweet  May  morning ; 
And  the  children  are  pulling 

On  every  side 
In  a  thousand  valleys  far  and  wide, 
Fresh  flowers ;  while  the  sun  shines  warm, 
And  the  babe  leaps  up  on  his  mother's  arm :  — 

1  hear,  I  hear,  with  j  oy  I  hear ! 

—  But  there  's  a  tree,  of  many,  one, 
A  single  field  which  I  have  look'd  upon. 
Both  of  them  speak  of  something  that  is  gone: 
The  pansy  at  my  feet 
Doth  the  same  tale  repeat : 
358 


SONGS    AND    LYRICS 

Whither  Is  fled  the  visionary  gleam? 
Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream? 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting; 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting 

And  Cometh  from  afar ; 
Not  in  entire  forgetfulness. 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home : 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  boy. 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 
The  youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  priest, 
And  by  the  vision  splendid 
Is  on  his  way  attended; 
At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

Earth  fills  her  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own ; 
Yearnings  she  hath  in  her  own  natural  kind. 
And,  even  with  something  of  a  mother's  mind 
And  no  unworthy  aim. 

The  homely  nurse  doth  all  she  can 
To  make  her  foster-child,  her  inmate,  Man, 

Forget  the  glories  he  hath  known 
And  that  imperial  palace  whence  he  came. 

Behold  the  Child  among  his  new-born  blisses, 
A  six  years'  darling  of  a  pigmy  size  ! 
See,  where  'mid  work  of  his  own  hand  he  lies, 

359 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Fretted  by  sallies  of  his  mother's  kisses, 
With  light  upon  him  from  his  father's  eyes ! 
See,  at  his  feet,  some  little  plan  or  chart. 
Some  fragment  from  his  dream  of  human  life, 
Shaped  by  himself  with  newly-learned  art ; 

A  wedding  or  a  festival, 

A  mourning  or  a  funeral ; 

And  this  hath  now  his  heart, 

And  unto  this  he  frames  his  song : 
Then  will  he  fit  his  tongue 
To  dialogues  of  business,  love,  or  strife ; 

But  it  will  not  be  long 

Ere  this  be  thrown  aside. 

And  with  new  joy  and  pride 
The  little  actor  cons  another  part; 
Filling  from  time  to  time  his  '  humorous  stage  * 
With  all  the  Persons,  down  to  palsied  Age, 
That  life  brings  with  her  in  her  equipage ; 

As  if  his  whole  vocation 

Were  endless  imitation. 


Thou,  whose  exterior  semblance  doth  belie 

Thy  soul's  immensity; 
Thou  best  philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 
Thy  heritage,  thou  eye  among  the  blind. 
That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep, 
Haunted  for  ever  by  the  eternal  Mind,  — 

Mighty  Prophet !    Seer  blest ! 

On  whom  those  truths  do  rest 
Which  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find ; 
Thou,  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  day,  a  master  o'er  a  slave, 
A  presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by ; 
Thou  little  child,  yet  glorious  in  the  might 
Of  heaven-born  freedom  on  thy  being's  height, 

360 


SONGS     AND     LYRICS 

Why  with  such  earnest  pains  dost  thou  provoke 
The  years  to  bring  the  inevitable  yoke, 
Thus  bhndly  with  thy  blessedness  at  strife? 
Full  soon  thy  soul  shall  have  her  earthly  freight, 
And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life! 

O  joy !  that  in  our  embers 
Is  something  that  doth  live. 
That  Nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive ! 
The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 
Perpetual  benediction :   not  indeed 
For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blest, 
DeHght  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 
Of  childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest. 
With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his  breast : 
—  Not  for  these  I  raise 
The  song  of  thanks  and  praise ; 
But  for  those  obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  things. 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishings. 
Blank  misgivings  of  a  creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized. 
High  instincts,  before  which  our  mortal  nature 
Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprized: 
But  for  those  first  affections, 
Those  shadowy  recollections. 

Which,  be  they  what  they  may. 
Are  yet  the  fountain-light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  a  master-light  of  all  our  seeing ; 

Uphold  us  —  cherish  —  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  silence :   truths  that  wake. 
To  perish  never ; 
361 


THE     GOLDEN    TREASURY 

Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavour, 

Nor  man  nor  boy, 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy ! 

Hence,  in  a  season  of  calm  weather 
Though  inland  far  we  be. 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 
Which  brought  us  hither ; 
Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither  — 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 

Then  sing,  ye  birds,  sing,  sing  a  joyous  song! 
And  let  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound! 
We,  in  thought,  will  j  oin  your  throng 
Ye  that  pipe  and  ye  that  play, 
Ye  that  through  your  hearts  to-day 
Feel  the  gladness  of  the  May ! 

What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  bright 

Be  now  for  ever  taken  from  my  sight. 

Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 

Of  splendour  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower ; 
We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind. 
In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which  having  been  must  ever  be. 
In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 
Out  of  human  suffering, 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death. 

In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 

And  O,  ye  Fountains,  Meadows,  Hills,  and  Groves, 
Forbode  not  any  severing  of  our  loves ! 
Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  feel  your  might ; 
I  only  have  relinquish'd  one  delight 

362 


SONGS    AND     LYRICS 

To  live  beneath  your  more  habitual  sway; 
I  love  the  brooks  which  down  their  channels  fret 
Even  more  than  when  I  tripp'd  lightly  as  they ; 
The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-bom  day 

Is  lovely  yet ; 
The  clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun 
Do  take  a  sober  colouring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality ; 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  are  won. 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live, 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys  and  fears, 
To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

W.  Wordsworth 

ccLxxxvni 

MUSIC,  when  soft  voices  die, 
Vibrates  in  the  memory  — 
Odours,  when  sweet  violets  sicken, 
Live  within  the  sense  they  quicken. 
Rose  leaves,  when  the  rose  is  dead, 
Are  heap'd  for  the  beloved's  bed; 
And  so  thy  thoughts,  when  Thou  art  gone. 
Love  itself  shall  slumber  on. 

P.  B.  Shelley 


363 


Index  to  First  Lines 


Index  to  First  Lines 


Page 

A  Chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound 213 

A  flock  of  sheep  that  leisurely  pass  by 320 

A  slumber  did  my  spirit  seal 212 

A  sweet  disorder  in  the  dress 92 

A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid 227 

A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea 237 

A  widow  bird  sate  mourning  for  her  love 320 

Absence,  hear  thou  my  protestation 9 

Ah,  Chloris,  could  I  now  but  sit 84 

Ah!   County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh 218 

All  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moor'd 146 

All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights 200 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true 171 

And  is  this  —  Yarrow?  —  this  the  stream      310 

And  thou  art  dead,  as  young  and  fair     . 233 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus 26 

Ariel  to  Miranda:  —  Take 299 

Art  thou  pale  for  weariness 319 

Art  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers 45 

As  it  fell  upon  a  day 27 

As  I  was  walking  all  alane 106 

As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 258 

At  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when  daylight  appears 298 

At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when  stars  are  weeping,  I  fly      233 

Avenge,  O  Lord !  Thy  slaughter 'd  saints,  whose  bones 61 

Awake,  Aeolian  lyre,  awake      155 

Awake,  awake,  my  Lyre 99 

Bards  of  passion  and  of  Mirth 198 

Beauty  sat  bathing  by  a  spring 15 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field 297 

Being  your  slave,  what  should  I  do  but  tend 10 

Beneath  these  fruit-tree  boughs  that  shed 287 

Best  and  Brightest,  come  away 313 

Bid  me  to  live,  and  I  will  live 94 

367 


INDEX     TO     FIRST     LINES 

Page 

Blest  pair  of  Sirens,"pledges  of  Heaven's  joy 122 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind 33 

Bright  Star!  would  I  were  steadfast  as  thou  art 231 


'■o'^ 


Call  for  the  robin-redbreast  and  the  wren      36 

Calm  was  the  day,  and  through  the  trembling  air 39 

Captain,  or  Colonel,  or  Knight  in  arms 74 

Care-charmer  Sleep,  Son  of  the  sable  Night 28 

Come  away,  come  away,  Death 34 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love 6 

Crabbed  Age  and  Youth 7 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  play'd      38 

Cyriack,  whose  grandsire,  on  the  royal  bench 79 

Daughter  of  Jove,  relentless  power      188 

Daughter  to  that  good  Earl,  once  President      87 

Degenerate  Douglas!   oh,  the  unworthy  lord 293 

Diaphenia  like  the  daflfadowndilly 13 

Doth  then  the  world  go  thus,  doth  all  thus  move 48 

Down  in  yon  garden  sweet  and  gay 143 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes 91 

Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to  woo 179 

Earl  March  look'd  on  his  dying  child 230 

Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair 292 

Eternal  Spirit  of  the  chainless  Mind 244 

Ethereal  minstrel!  pilgrim  of  the  sky 283 

Ever  let  the  Fancy  roam " 324 

Fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 108 

Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree 107 

Farewell!  thou  art  too  dear  for  my  possessing      25 

Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun 34 

For  ever.  Fortune,  wilt  thou  prove 153 

Forget  not  yet  the  tried  intent 18 

Four  Seasons  fill  the  measure  of  the  year 355 

From  Harmony,  from  heavenly  Harmony 59 

From  Stirling  Castle  we  had  seen 308 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies 35 


Gather  ye  rose-buds  while  ye  may 85 

Gem  of  the  crimson-colour'd  Even 219 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine 150 

Go,  lovely  Rose 90 

368 


INDEX    TO    FIRST    LINES 

Page 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  Spirit 283 

Happy  the  man,  whose  wish  and  care 129 

Happy  those  early  days,  when  I 77 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain      274 

He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek 89 

Hence,  all  you  vain  delights 101 

Hence,  loathed  Melancholy Ill 

Hence,  vain  deluding  Joys 116 

How  delicious  is  the  winning 216 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 75 

How  like  a  winter  hath  my  absence  been 11 

How  sleep  the  brave  who  sink  to  rest 139 

How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 217 

How  vainly  men  themselves  amaze (f09 

I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey -. 190 

I  arise  from  dreams  of  Thee 206 

I  dream'd  that  as  I  wander'd  by  the  way 322 

I  fear  thy  kisses,  gentle  maiden        209 

I  have  had  playmates,  I  have  had  companions 257 

I  heard  a  thousand  blended  notes 327 

I  met  a  traveller  from  an  antique  land 293 

I  remember,  I  remember 261 

I  saw  where  in  the  shroud  did  lurk 277 

I  travell'd  among  unknown  men      210 

I  wander'd  lonely  as  a  cloud 302 

I  was  thy  neighbor  once,  thou  rugged  Pile 344 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies 105 

If  aught  of  oaken  stop  or  pastoral  song 168 

If  doughty  deeds  my  lady  please 150 

If  Thou  survive  my  well-contented  day 36 

If  to  be  absent  were  to  be 98 

If  woman  could  be  fair  and  yet  not  fond 32 

I'm  wearing  awa',  Jean 184 

In  a  drear-nighted  December 223 

In  the  downhill  of  life,  when  I  find  I  'm  declining 195 

In  the  sweet  shire  of  Cardigan 253 

It  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free 317 

It  is  not  Beauty  I  demand        88 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 76 

It  was  a  lov'cr  and  his  lass 9 

It  was  a  summer  evening 249 

It  was  the  winter  wild 52 

I  've  heard  them  lilting  at  our  cwe-milking 140 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John 184 

369 


INDEX   TO    FIRST    LINES 

Page 

Lawrence,  of  virtuous  father  virtuous  son      78 

Let  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds      19 

Life!  I  know  not  what  thou  art 196 

Life  of  Life!  Thy  lips  enkindle 826 

Like  as  the  waves  make  towards  the  pebbled  shore 24 

Like  to  the  clear  in  the  highest  sphere 14 

Love  not  me  for  comely  grace 95 

Lo!  where  the  rosy-bosm'd  Hours 163 

Many  a  green  isle  needs  must  be 336 

Mary!  I  want  a  lyre  with  other  strings      192 

Milton!  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour 247 

Mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill 167 

Mortality,  behold  and  fear 71 

Most  sweet  it  is  with  un-uplifted  eyes 323 

Much  have  I  travell'd  in  the  realms  of  gold 198 

Music,  when  soft  voices  die      363 

My  days  among  the  Dead  are  past       266 

My  heart  aches,  and  a  drowsy  numbness  pains 290 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 356 

My  Love  in  her  attire  doth  shew  her  wit 93 

My  lute,  be  as  thou  wert  when  thou  didst  grow 29 

My  thoughts  hold  mortal  strife 33 

My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his 20 

No  longer  mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead 37 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note 252 

Not,  Celia,  that  I  juster  am 96 

Now  the  golden  Morn  aloft 128 

Now  the  last  day  of  many  days 314 

O  blithe  new-comer!  I  have  heard 288 

O  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair 204 

O  Friend !  I  know  not  which  way  I  must  look 246 

O  if  thou  knew'st  how  thou  thyself  dost  harm 19 

O  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay 275 

O  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see 229 

O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be 174 

O  me!  what  eyes  hath  love  put  in  my  head 30 

O  Mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming 21 

O  my  Luve  's  like  a  red,  red  rose 176 

O  never  say  that  I  was  false  of  heart      12 

O  saw  ye  bonny  Lesley      ' 175 

O  say  what  is  the  thing  call'd  Light   .    .    .    .    : 130 

O  snatch'd  away  in  beauty's  bloom 272 

O  talk  not  to  me  of  a  name  great  in  story 203 

O  waly  waly  up  the  bank      103 

370 


INDEX    TO    FIRST    LINES 

Page 

O  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms 225 

O  wild  West  Wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being 342 

O  World!  OLife!  O  Time! 356 

Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart 148 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 183 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North ' 240 

Of  this  fair  volume  which  we  World  do  name 48 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night 262 

On  a  day,  alack  the  day 17 

On  a  Poet's  lips  I  slept 346 

On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low 248 

Once  did  She  hold  the  gorgeous  East  in  fee 245 

One  more  Unfortunate , 268 

One  word  is  too  often  profaned 235 

Our  bugles  sang  truce,  for  the  night-cloud  had  lower'd 321 

Over  the  mountains , 83 

Pack,  clouds,  away,  and  welcome  day S8 

Phoebus,  arise 3 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu 236 

Poor  Soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth 46 

Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood 268 

Queen  and  Huntress,  chaste  and  fair 80 

Rarely,  rarely  comest  thou 263 

Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless  king 135 

Season  of  mist  and  mellow  f ruitf ulness 304 

Shall  I  compare  thee  to  a  summer's  day 16 

Shall  I,  wasting  in  despair 100 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 210 

She  is  not  fair  to  outward  view 209 

She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 207 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  delight 208 

Since  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  earth,  nor  boundless  sea 6 

Since  there  's  no  help,  come  let  us  kiss  and  part 29 

Sleep  on,  and  dream  of  Heaven  awhile 152 

Souls  of  Poets  dead  and  gone 267 

Spring,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's  pleasant  king    . 3 

Star  that  bringest  home  the  bee 318 

Stern  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God 242 

Surprized  by  joy  —  impatient  as  the  wind 232 

Sweet,  be  not  proud  of  those  two  eyes 90 

Sweet  Highland  Girl,  a  very  shower 295 

Sweet  stream,  that  winds  through  yonder  glade 151 

Swiftly  walk  over  the  western  wave 220 

371 


INDEX    TO    FIRST    LINES 

Page 

Take,  O  take  those  lips  away 28 

Tax  not  the  royal  Saint  with  vain  expense 348 

Tell  me  not.  Sweet,  I  am  unkind 86 

Tell  me  where  is  Fancy  bred 37 

That  time  of  year  thou  may'st  in  me  behold 23 

That  which  her  slender  waist  confined 94 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day 170 

The  forward  youth  that  would  appear 61 

The  fountains  mingle  with  the  river 217 

The  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 73 

The  last  and  greatest  Herald  of  Heaven's  King 50 

The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness 140 

The  merchant,  to  secure  his  treasure 153 

The  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 354 

The  poplars  are  fell'd;   farewell  to  the  shade 165 

The  sun  is  warm,  the  sky  is  clear 264 

The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low 318 

The  twentieth  year  is  well-nigh  past 192 

The  World  is  too  much  with  us;  late  and  soon 347 

The  world  's  a  bubble  and  the  Life  of  Man 47 

There  be  none  of  Beauty's  daughters      206 

There  is  a  flower,  the  Lesser  Celandine 260 

There  is  a  garden  in  her  face 92 

There  's  not  a  joy  the  world  can  give  like  that  it  takes  away     , 259 

There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream 357 

They  that  have  power  to  hurt,  and  will  do  none 25 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn 51 

This  Life,  which  seems  so  fair 45 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower 211 

Thy  braes  were  bonny.  Yarrow  stream  . 141 

Thy  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright 102 

Timely  blossom.  Infant  fair 133 

Tired  with  all  these,  for  restful  death  I  crj' 49 

Toll  for  the  Brave 144 

To  me,  fair  Friend,  you  never  can  be  old 12 

'T  was  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 123 

'T  was  on  a  lofty  vase's  side 131 

Two  Voices  are  there;   one  is  of  the  Sea 245 

Under  the  greenwood  tree 8 

Verse,  a  breeze  'mid  blossoms  straying 348 

Victorious  men  of  earth,  no  more 72 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay 281 

Wee,  sleekit,  cow'rin',  tim'rous  beastie 165 

372 


INDEX    TO    FIRST    LINES 

Page 

Were  I  as  base  as  is  the  lowly  plain 21 

We  talk'd  with  open  heart  and  tongue 352 

We  walk'd  along,  while  bright  and  red 350 

We  watch'd  her  breathing  thro'  the  night 275 

Whenas  in  silks  my  Julia  goes      93 

When  Britain  first  at  Heaven's  command 134 

When  first  the  fiery-mantled  Sun 305 

When  God  at  first  made  Man 76 

When  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  but  the  name 251 

When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall 22 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 74 

When  I  have  borne  in  memory  what  has  tamed 247 

When  I  have  fears  that  I  may  cease  to  be 231 

When  I  have  seen  by  Time's  fell  hand  defaced 5 

When  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes      11 

When  in  the  chronicle  of  wasted  time 17 

When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly 154 

When  Love  with  unconfined  wings      96 

When  maidens  such  as  Hester  die 273 

When  Music,  Heavenly  maid,  was  young 159 

When  Ruth  was  left  half  desolate 328 

When  the  lamp  is  shatter'd 228 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye  at  hame 178 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 23 

When  we  two  parted      222 

Where  art  thou,  my  beloved  Son 279 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest 224 

Where  the  remote  Bermudas  ride      121 

While  that  the  sun  with  his  beams  hot 31 

Whoe'er  she  be 80 

Why  art  thou  silent.'*     Is  thy  love  a  plant 221 

Why,  Damon,  with  the  forward  day 194 

Why  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover ,98 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie 215 

With  little  here  to  do  or  see      303 

Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 177 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  Bonny  Doon 154 

Ye  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers 185 

Ye  Mariners  of  England 238 

Yes,  there  is  holy  pleasure  in  thine  eye 294 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more 65 

You  meaner  beauties  of  the  night 86 

373 


„MVERSm  OF  C.L.FORm^  UBR.KV 
UN1V1.K  Los  Angeles  ^^  below. 


Form  L9-Series  444 


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158  00428  8451 


^^      000  297  490 


PR 

1175 
P17g 
1913 


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